


The Killer of 492 Woodrow Street

by ricecrispbees



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Bisexual Character, Detective AU, F/M, Gay Male Character, Homophobia, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, It's hard, Lesbian Character, M/M, Murder, Period-Typical Homophobia, alSO lucy's a human, dw i haven't stooped to writing axefucker fanfic just yet, hhhh, i'm...trying very hard to make this somewhat historically accurate but, idc what klei throws at us this year, sibling willow/wilson because i refuse to let that die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-20 00:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricecrispbees/pseuds/ricecrispbees
Summary: *on an indefinite hiatus*Fraternal twins Wilson Percival and Willow Petunia Higgsbury are widely considered the two best detectives in all of England. They've solved many mysteries together in the past, but one of the most difficult ones they've been tasked to deal with comes at a party in the home of Wilson's old friend Woodie. At said party, Wilson meets a mysterious magician named Maxwell and is immediately charmed by the man and his tricks. When the magician becomes a prime suspect for the murder of one of the party guests,  Wilson desperately attempts to clear the man's name as his feelings for him steadily grow and more bodies begin to pile up. The question is this: if Maxwell didn't do it, then who could it have been?Magic, murder, and making love will blend together to create a most enthralling adventure for Wilson indeed.





	1. The Night of the Party

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you might remember that I wrote this initially back in 2017 but then gave up and deleted it. I have a few new motivations for picking this up again:
> 
> 1) the concept was cool  
> 2) i'm taking a class that's like combined medical science/forensics and it's adding fuel to the metaphorical fire to write a murder mystery  
> 3) I don't really wanna work on any of my other stuff :P
> 
> hope you lovelies enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the story, lovelies! Hope you enjoy<3

It was the evening of 14 April, 1917, and it was currently pouring rain. Water pooled in the crowded London streets and soaked the clothes of the passerby that were unlucky enough to have been caught without their umbrellas. One of these people was Detective Wilson Percival Higgsbury, and the rain seemed to be giving him the worst of it all as he ran down the streets, desperately trying to escape the downpour.

"Excuse me! Sorry!" He called out as he bumped into some of the disgruntled passers-by nearest him. A few people grumbled to themselves and some even shoved him back, but he kept on going. He was on his way back to the house he shared with his twin sister Willow and was supposed to be back nearly twenty minutes ago. The two were supposed to be getting ready for a party at a friend of Wilson's place, Warren "Woodie" Marchand. Woodie and Wilson had attended the same university and became good friends, but after they graduated, Woodie married a lovely woman named Lucy. Sometime between graduation and Woodie's marriage, the two began to drift apart. Wilson was grateful that Marchand had remembered him in deciding who'd come to the party and didn't want to be late for this at all, but despite this, he'd somehow managed to stay a little too late at the office. Now here he was, sprinting down the streets of London like his life depended on it, trying his best to get to his home at the edge of town and get ready on time.

Soon enough, the concrete sidewalks of London faded into dirt, and Wilson knew he was close. He hauled himself through a patch of trees, nearly colliding with a few thick branches, and after a bit of tripping and stumbling he came across the dwelling. It was a modest house, just big enough for him and his sister, and there always seemed to be a fire burning in the fireplace. That was the work of Willow, who had a strange love for fire and insisted that they kept one burning as often as possible. As much as this made Wilson feel paranoid that their house would burn down, he liked seeing her happy, so he tried not to argue about it too much. He would probably lose any argument he'd try to start with her, anyway, because she really knew how to debate with someone. It was alright, though; arguments stressed him out, anyway.

The soaked man approached the door to the house and knocked.

"Willow? I'm home." He called through the closed door, and a second later it flung open.

"Wilson!" His sister gasped and her slate grey eyes widened. She resembled him a great deal, their only real differences in appearance being body shape and hair style. Willow was curvier than him and had longer hair that she usually wore in low pigtails. They hung over her shoulders and fell down to her waist like streams of black ink. This paired with her soft, feminine facial features made her quite an attractive woman, and Wilson occasionally wondered if they were actually related. Today she wore a red dress with slightly exaggerated shoulders, no doubt for Woodie's party. She must have gotten ready ahead of time, and she didn't look too happy that he wasn't here to get ready with her. "You're soaking wet! Get inside _right now_!" She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the house before the detective could make a move.

"Well, hello to you, too, dear sister." Wilson kicked the door shut behind them.

"Why didn't you bring an umbrella out? Goodness gracious, you're soaked to the bone! I love you, Wilson, but come on!" Willow sighed. "You stay here while I get a towel, and when I get back, you'd better have a good excuse for why you were out almost twenty-five minutes longer than you should have been." She hurriedly left the room and returned in mere seconds with a soft blue towel. She tossed it to him gingerly and he began to dry his hair off as she sat down at the kitchen table.

"Well? She raised an eyebrow at him, her grey eyes piercing him. "Why are you home so late? You want to go to this party, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, but I got caught up at the agency again. My apologies." Wilson replied, shaking out his hair and drying off his body now.

Willow sighed. "Right. That place. I wish I could really come to work with you, you know," She rolled her eyes. "But God forbid a woman try to work."

"Not everyone understands how smart you are, Willow." The detective sighed and handed the towel back to her. While she never received any formal schooling, Willow was absolutely brilliant compared to most of the other women in London. When she was little, she would beg Wilson to teach her to read and write since their local school thought educating girls was a bad idea, and he did. Soon enough, her reading skill surpassed his own, and she would constantly steal his schoolbooks and the like to quench her thirst for knowledge. Now she worked alongside him in secret as a detective, helping him piece together bits of evidence for cases. However, she had to stay home because Wilson's workplace did not allow women to apply for jobs there. A shame, too, Wilson thought; she'd likely do much better in this field than several of his other male coworkers. "One day, we'll get a good job for you. One day."

"I hope that day comes soon." His sister huffed. "Anyway, get changed already, will you? It'll be dark soon, and the party starts at 7:30. We've got 45 minutes to get there and the Marchands live at the other end of town, so get moving."

"Okay, okay. I'm going. By the way, that dress looks nice on you. Maybe you'll find a suitable husband at this party." Wilson teased as he headed off to his room.

Willow scoffed. "Me? _Married_? You're out of your mind. You know I couldn't care less about getting a husband." She rolled her eyes.

Her brother sighed. "Yes, everyone in the family is well aware of that, Willow. I was _joking_."

"You'd better have been. Now hurry. Woodie and his wife are going to be very happy to see you tonight."

Wilson nodded and headed off to his room. He dug through his wardrobe and found the suit he'd reserved for formal occasions and pulled it out. It was a black suit and slacks that were to be worn with a red button up shirt and ascot, one that was the same color as his sister's dress. The two agreed that they both looked nicer when they matched in this way, so they tried to do it as much as possible. Red and black were like their signature colors. He changed out of his now only slightly damp white shirt, red vest, and black slacks to change out for the more formal attire. It took him a while, but he finally got the clothing onto his body, and he stepped out into the sitting room to show the final result off. Willow smiled upon seeing him and nodded in approval.

"Lovely. I'm sure that attire will bring home another girl or two tonight." She teased, causing Wilson to blush.

"Oh, shut up. If I was interested in women, I'd have brought some home by now." Wilson scoffed. "Let's get going, then. We don't want to keep the Marchands waiting."

"Yes, but let's bring an umbrella with us this time, shall we?" Willow asked, not expecting a response as she carefully picked a red one from next to the door. "Come on, now. Let's go." Wilson held open the door and they stepped out. Willow opened the umbrella, held it over their heads, and locked her free hand with Wilson's as they made their way back into the city to hail a carriage.

It took a while, but they finally managed to find a person who'd be willing to take them. The carriage wasn't too big but enough to hold at least two people and was drawn by a man with two handsome brown horses.

"What's the address?" The driver was a burly man probably in his early thirties, clad in a tux and top hat. He looked over at the twins as they clambered into his carriage.

"492 Woodrow Street." Wilson replied, shutting the door behind them. The man nodded, and off they went with the crack of a whip.

"Are the two of you headed to a party?" The man inquired. Wilson noticed he had a heavy London accent.

"We are." Willow replied, absentmindedly looking out the window.

"Hm. The two of you look awfully similar. Are you related?"

"We're twins." The Higgsburies replied in unison.

"I see. Interesting." The ride continued in silence after that. Not that the two passengers minded, of course. They sat in silence, nervousness about the party eating away at the both of them. Wilson was worried someone was actually going to find someone that would end up falling in love with him, or worse, falling in love with his sister. The thought of either was enough to make him visibly cringe. Willow noticed something was making him uncomfortable, so she reached over and squeezed his hand.

"I'm nervous too." She confided softly. "Just try to calm down."

Wilson nodded and took a few deep breaths to ease his nerves, but sadly it didn't do much. He just squeezed her hand back and hoped this would go over well. They arrived at the house some time later, Wilson paid their fare, and they stepped up to the front porch. It was a nice house, maybe two or three stories tall, and built from stone. Lucy's family must have been insanely rich for the couple to have been able to afford such a nice place. It was also at the edge of town, so there was a fair amount of trees surrounding the property. Wilson figured it must have been directly across London from where their place was and wondered if there was a shorter way to get here. He exchanged a glance with his sister, silently asking if she was ready, and knocked on the door. A moment later, a man answered the door, and Wilson recognized him right away.

"Wilson!" Woodie greeted them with a pleasant grin. He had slightly messy orange hair and a beard, giving him a rugged appearance that complimented his formal attire.

"Good to see you, old friend." Wilson smiled, too, and the two shook hands.

"And I assume this is your sister, Willow." The man looked over to her, and she nodded. "You two really do look alike. Jesus, she could cut her hair and wear your clothes and I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Anyway, come in. Lucy's been looking forward to meeting you."

The twins entered the almost mansion-like house and immediately saw people talking and laughing like they'd known each other forever. A pang of anxiety slugged Wilson in the gut when he realized he'd never met any of them before. He began to sweat, wondering just how well this was going to go over for him.

"Lucy! They're here!" Woodie called, and a second later the most beautiful woman the Higgsburies had ever seen poked her head around the turn of the hallway.

"Oh!" She head long brown hair that hung down to her shoulders and gorgeous green eyes that widened upon seeing the twins. "You must be Wilson and Willow! Pleasure to meet you!" She approached them and they saw she wore a dress the same color as her eyes with a tight corset around her waist. "I'm Lucille, if my husband didn't tell you, but you can just call me Lucy. Pleased to meet you!" She extended a hand and each twin took turns shaking it.

"Woodie, you got lucky." Wilson muttered to his friend as Willow and Lucy struck up a conversation. Woodie laughed.

"I get that a lot, and I agree every single time." He sighed and looked at his wife with such admiration that Wilson's envy nearly caused him to vomit. "We married less than a year ago. Sorry I didn't contact you when it happened."

"It's alright." Wilson sighed. "I've been so busy with work lately that I probably wouldn't have had the time to properly respond."

"Hm. You're a detective as of now, right? I think I've read about your work in the paper once or twice. At least you're working at a job that suits you." Woodie pointed out.

"True. I just wish Willow had the same opportunities." Wilson sighed. "She'd do better at the job than me."

"You've told me. She looks just as feisty and free-spirited as you've said she is." Woodie commented. "I'm sure she'll be a hit at this party."

"If any of the men get the courage to go near her, that is." Wilson snorted and the two laughed.

"Anyway, come in. There's enough drinks for everybody and I'm sure there's going to be someone you know here. Mostly everyone here attended the same university as us, so there's bound to be someone you recognize." Woodie said to the twins.

"I hope so." Wilson replied and nervously fidgeted with his collar. Willow gave him a reassuring smile and took his hand.

"He's right, you know. Come on, Wilson, don't be so nervous." She urged, dragging him into the heart of the party. Wilson tried to fight her, but her grip was like steel, so there was no letting go. He heard the Marchand couple chuckle at the sight behind them as Wilson was pulled further back into the sea of people.

"He always was a bit of a nervous man." Woodie remarked.

"He's a nice one, though, I can tell. I like him." Lucy replied, and that was all the detective got. 


	2. Social Anxiety and Card Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson's not exactly a party person. The same cannot be said for Willow. God help them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12 February update: the wonderful @Grumpiest_Bean (grumpiest_grump on tumblr) drew me some lovely fanart for this chapter!! Please go support this sweet human being!! :>

Willow dragged him over to a table where there were wine and small plates of fruits and cheeses. They stopped there and Willow took a glass from the table.

"Grab a drink, will you? It'll help to loosen up." She told him, downing the entire glass in one go. Wilson and a few other people stared at her, wide-eyed.

"How much do you plan to drink tonight, exactly?" Her brother asked, taking a glass of his own.

"Enough to keep me out for three days." Willow laughed. "I'm joking. I won't drink _too_ much. Anyway, I want you to at least have a little wine in your systems. You're so nervous at social events, especially now. You look like you're gonna pass out any minute." She refilled her glass and tapped it against the side of Wilson's. "Cheers to your crippling social anxiety."

Wilson laughed. "Cheers to social anxiety." He repeated and downed about half his glass. Wine tasted awfully bitter to him and left a bad taste in his mouth, so he didn't drink very often. When he did, however, it was usually at times like these when there were people around and it stressed him out. He didn't notice Willow wander off to go strike up conversation with some other women and nearly had a panic attack when he realized she was gone. He slipped out of the room into what looked like a library, nearly spilling wine onto himself, and felt relief wash over him when he saw there was seemingly no one there.

He leaned up against a wall, trying to steady his breathing and drank a little more. He tried not to finish it off too quickly, knowing full well that he'd have to refill the glass if he ran out so soon, and he was not about to go back out there. He looked around the room slowly, drawing it all in, and thought it was quite lovely. There was a wide array of books on the shelves on several different topics. He saw some on biology, philosophy, literature analysis, and more.

'Willow would have a field day in here.' The detective thought, running his fingers over the spine of a book absentmindedly. A place like this, he figured, would be wonderful to wind down in after a long day at the office.

Suddenly, he heard a thumping noise and froze dead in his tracks. The thump was followed by the sound of a man cursing, and from the volume of his voice Wilson could tell he was fairly close by.

"Who's there?" He managed to eek out, turning around to come face-to-face with a tall, lanky person he'd never met. The man was at least six feet tall and wore a lavender pin-striped suit that had a red flower pinned to it on the chest. His hair was somewhat thin and dark like Wilson's own, and his dark brown eyes stared back at the detective like a deer in headlights.

"Sorry, did I startle you?" The taller man backed off some.

"A little bit, yes." Wilson gulped, surveying the man up and down. The man seemed a tad bit older than him, maybe around thirty-five. Wilson wondered where Woodie knew him from. He had the feeling that he'd seen this man a few times himself, but he wasn't sure where.

"My bad. I didn't mean to. I just needed a place to practice a few card tricks." The taller man pulled a deck of cards out from the inside of his jacket pocket. He appeared to be a magician.

"Ah. Interesting." Wilson nodded, struggling to remain conscious as anxiety chewed away at him from the inside. "Can I see a few?"

The other man blushed. "Uh...well...okay." He fumbled with the card deck, and Wilson felt a pang of admiration of some sort at the sight. The magician lost his grip on the deck of cards and they dropped to the floor.

"S-sorry!" The magician stuttered and knelt down to pick them up. Wilson stood there awkwardly for a moment before setting his wine glass down and helping him out. The other man seemed surprised by this but accepted the help. Wilson reached out to pick up the last few cards, and the magician tried to do the same, causing his hand to land on top of Wilson's over the deck of cards. They sat stock still like this for a moment before pulling away at the speed of lightning.

"I'm so sorry!" Wilson apologized quickly, grabbing the cards and handing them to the magician.

"It's alright, it's alright." The man reassured and they stood up. He fidgeted uneasily with the cards, shuffling them in his hand. "Sorry, I just tend to get really nervous around people."

"So do I." Wilson confided. "Um, if you don't mind telling me, what's your name?" He asked.

"William Carter, but I go by Maxwell in my shows." The other replied. "I honestly prefer that name, anyway, so if you could call me that..."

"Gotcha." The detective nodded, picking up his wine glass again leaning back against one of the shelves. "I'm Wilson, Wilson Higgsbury. I'm a detective. Have you heard of me?"

"You've got your own office, right?" Maxwell asked, still shuffling the cards.

"I do." Wilson replied, taking a sip of wine.

"Ah. So I _have_ heard of you." Maxwell nodded. "I do magic shows with my girlfriend, Charlie."

Suddenly it made sense why Wilson felt he'd seen this man before. "Oh, yeah! I think I've seen some of your posters before! I've been meaning to go to one of your shows with my sister, but we've just never had the time." He admitted sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. I'm sure you're a very busy man." Maxwell shrugged. Without looking down at what he was doing, Maxwell spread the cards out like a fan and randomly pulled one from the deck. Still not looking, he showed it to Wilson. It was an ace of hearts. "Memorize this card for me." He said, like it was a normal thing to ask of someone.

Wilson nodded. "Okay. Now what?"

Without casting his eyes downward, Maxwell stuck the card back into the deck and shuffled it. After a moment of moving the cards, he pulled the ace out of the deck and flashed it to Wilson. "Is this your card?" He asked with a smile.

Wilson stared for a moment, wide-eyed, and nodded. "It is."

Maxwell took the remainder of his cards and stuck them back inside his jacket. Then, holding the card with two fingers, he flicked the card with his free hand. The card instantly changed from the ace to an all-black card with a Joker drawn on in white. Wilson gasped.

"Oh my god. That's amazing." He looked up at Maxwell in awe. "How did you do that?"

Maxwell grinned and slipped the card into his jacket along with the others. "Don't you know that a magician never reveals his secrets?"

"That's...seriously, that's incredible." Wilson shook his head and downed the rest of his wine. "Come on, you can tell me. Is it sleight of hand, or...?"

"Do you honestly think sleight of hand could have made a trick like that possible?" Maxwell laughed.

"Well, if not that, then what?" Wilson cocked an eyebrow and wondered if this was just the alcohol kicking in.

"What do you think?" The magician's face suddenly became more serious. Wilson winced and looked away, unsure of how to respond. They stood there in awkward silence before they became aware of people chanting. It sounded like they were yelling "Chug! Chug! Chug!" Curious, they exchanged glances and Wilson opened the door to the library. He was shocked to see his sister and a man he didn't recognize standing in the middle of a group of people and chugging from a bottle of wine each.

"Oh, Willow..." Wilson groaned and rolled his eyes. He stepped back into the library and Maxwell eyed him curiously.

"Don't tell me. _That's_ your sister?" He asked, pointing a thumb at Willow before closing the door.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." The detective sighed. "She said she wasn't gonna drink a lot..."

"Yikes. You know, you and her---What's her name?"

"Willow."

"Right. Willow. You and Willow really look alike."

"Yeah. Well, we're twins." Wilson chuckled. "We tend to get that a lot."

"Oh. Oh, that makes sense." Maxwell nodded.

"Yeah. Hey, didn't you say you had a girlfriend?" The detective raised an eyebrow. Maxwell nodded. "Is she here right now?"

"She is, actually. I'm not sure where she is, though." The magician shrugged. "She's probably off bragging about my niece or our shows to someone who couldn't care less."

"I see. She's _that_ kind of girlfriend?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm glad she's enthusiastic about these things, but I wish she could just...keep it in, you know?" Maxwell huffed. "It's honestly kind of annoying."

"Sounds like it. Willow's a bit short-tempered and _extremely_ smart, so other people don't really like her much. Since she doesn't have many friends, she complains to me about her troubles with basically every other man in London, and while I get that she's my sister and I should listen to her from time to time it gets pretty tiring after a while, you know?"

"Yeesh." Maxwell bit his lip.

"Yeah." Wilson drew out the 'y'. "Otherwise, though, I don't mind her at all. She's a good person and slightly overprotective of me. Her wild side is a bit hard to control, though." He was about to say more but was cut off by the sickening thud of a person hitting the ground. "What in the devil?" He cracked open the door to the library and saw the man who had been chugging wine passed out and a triumphant Willow holding an empty wine bottle over her head. He mumbled a curse and shut the door.

"Well?"

"Willow won the drinking contest." Wilson laughed bitterly and leaned back against the shelf. "I would go out and say something, but I'm admittedly too nervous. I'm not really a 'people person'."

"Honestly? Neither am I, outside of my magic shows." Maxwell admitted. He paused, then chuckled. "It's funny, we've only known each other for a few minutes and here we are talking like old friends."

"Yeah." Wilson laughed too. "For some reason I'm not as nervous around you as I am around the people in the party, you know."

"Neither am I. I like you, Wilson. You seem like a good person." Maxwell admitted and the detective's face flushed. In the soft candle-lit library, Maxwell's face looked gentle and it made Wilson's heart race. It was truly a shame that Maxwell had a girlfriend, he thought, a bit upset by that fact. Then again, he doubted that the magician felt the same. They barely knew each other, after all.

"Yeah. I like you, too." The detective confessed, hoping his attraction wasn't as apparent as he thought it was. "Maybe after this we should meet up again."

"That would be nice. You should introduce me to Willow sometime, when she isn't full of wine." They laughed.

"Of course. And I'd like to see one of your shows sometime. Maybe I'll take some time off next week and drop by." Wilson smiled sweetly, his heart pounding in his chest. Maxwell's eyes lit up.

"That would be great!" He smiled, and the poor detective thought he would drop dead right then and there. A knock was heard at the door, and the two men froze. The knob turned, and a woman with short black hair opened the door.

"Maxie?" She poked her head into the room. "Oh. So you are in here." She looked over at Wilson, eyeing him suspiciously. "Who's this?"

Maxwell shifted uncomfortably. "Wilson, this is my girlfriend, Charlie. Charlie, this is Wilson Higgsbury. He's a detective."

"Ohh. You're _that_ Wilson Higgsbury, aren't you? I think I've read about you in the paper." The woman named Charlie stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She was a bit taller than Wilson but definitely shorter than Maxwell, maybe around the 5'9" mark. She had short black hair and robin's egg blue eyes that gazed down at Wilson with amazement and an American accent. Her white dress folded and rippled in several different places and looked a lot

like a Greek toga with a modern twist to it. She almost seemed to glide into the room, silent and swift like the onset of darkness. Wilson was slightly charmed by her, but suddenly felt a bit uneasy when she smiled at him. He couldn't pinpoint why.

"Uh...yeah, yeah, that's me." Wilson nodded and tried desperately to avoid eye contact. "My sister and I solve cases when they come up."

"Sister? Is that the girl in the waiting room that chugged a whole bottle of wine and is somehow _still_ kicking?" Charlie gasped. Wilson sighed and nodded, embarrassed out of his mind. "Ooh! That's cool! I didn't know women could get jobs like that."

"They can't." Wilson admitted. "She works from home. If I'm stuck on a case, I bring my materials home and she usually helps me get un-stuck from whatever's got me confused. Problem is, no one would believe me if I said she helped out, so I take a lot of the credit myself. I'm really not as great as you think I am." He confessed sheepishly.

Charle gasped softly and in a second her smile returned. "Aww. You're such a good brother. I wish I had siblings like that." She huffed. "Anyway, Maxie, what are you doing holed up in here? You just said you'd step in here to practice a card trick or two." She looked at him with genuine concern and the magician flushed.

"About that. I was practicing them, but I got a bit distracted." Maxwell chuckled. "I showed him that 'changing cards' trick you liked. He seemed pretty impressed." He looked over at the detective. "Er...you _were_ impressed by that, right?"

Wilson nodded eagerly. "Of course! The card just changed right in front of me! He refuses to tell me how he did it, though." He said and Charlie laughed.

"He doesn't even tell me how he does those tricks, Wilson. Don't take it personally." Charlie reassuringly pat the man on the shoulder before turning back to her lover. "Maxie, it's getting late. I think we should head home soon, but first, why don't we perform one of our tricks for the guests? I'm sure they'd enjoy that very much." The woman clasped her hands.

"I'm not sure, Charlie." Maxwell winced. "It doesn't seem like a good idea to do them unless we're onstage."

"Oh, come on. Just one card trick. Pleease?" She looked up at him with begging eyes and the magician looked over to Wilson.

"Uh...I mean..." The detective didn't realize he was going to have a say in the matter. "Maybe you should do it, just to, uh, impress the people who aren't too drunk to see straight? That ought to score you some more fans."

Maxwell bit his lip and thought this over. "Alright, fine. One trick." He nodded begrudgingly. "Maybe more, if the people want it, but I doubt they will."

"Aw, Max. You've got the worst inferiority complex, you know?" Charlie shook her head and chuckled. "Wilson, he didn't drink anything, did he?"

"I was the only one drinking in here, ma'am." Wilson shifted awkwardly, motioning to the empty wine glass in his hand. He started to feel a bit uncomfortable at how familiar Charlie was acting towards him.

"Right, right. Well, then, Maxie, you should be sober enough to do that same little diddy you showed off to Wilson, then. Come on, come on, don't keep them waiting. I already told some people that you'd be performing tonight."

"What?!" Maxwell looked at her with horror as his assistant grabbed him by the shoulder and proceeded to drag him out of the library. The magician looked over at Wilson and mouthed 'I'm so sorry'. Wilson just shook his head sympathetically.

"Oh, and Wilson, do come out here with us. It's such a shame to see you cooped up in here like this." Charlie looked at him, sticking her bottom lip out slightly for emphasis, and finished bringing her date out into the crowd. Wilson shrugged, figuring he might as well check on his sister while they were out there, and followed them into the sitting room. He was immediately greeted by an extremely drunk Willow, who slung her arm over her brother's shoulder and shouted "HEYYY! THA' GREAT DETECTIVE HIGGSBURY'S FINALLY DECIDED TO SHOW HIS FACE!"

A few people stared at him, including Maxwell and Charlie, and Wilson felt his face turn three shades of red. He heard a few people whisper things along the lines of "Is _that_ detective Higgsbury? He's shorter than I thought...and who's that woman with him?" and thought he would die on the spot of pure, unfiltered embarrassment.

"Er--Willow, get off. You're drunk." He said calmly, trying to pull her off of him.

"Where've you been, big broski?" His sister's words were heavily slurred, her accent was _much_ stronger than usual, and her breath reeked of alcohol. "Just, ehh....hangin' out?"

"Yes. Sure. Let's call it that." He nodded, desperately turning away from the drunken woman hanging on his shoulder. "Now get off, please, for the love of god. You smell awful."

"That's not very nice." Willow hiccuped but let go anyway. "Hey, what're those two doing over there?" She pointed a thumb at Maxwell and Charlie, who appeared to be talking to a large group of people at the other end of the room.

"Oh, Maxwell and Charlie? They're doing some magic tricks. It's no big--"

"I wanna see!" Willow insisted drunkenly and grabbed her brother's wrist. Wilson winced. Her grip was so tight, he thought it would cut off the circulation to his hand. He tried to get her to let go, but apparently she was even stronger when intoxicated. She dragged him over to join the small lake of people that was beginning to form around the couple, and for a second Maxwell and Wilson made eye contact. Wilson smiled awkwardly as Willow managed to drag herself and her brother to the front of the crowd.

"Alright, Maxie, show 'em what you've got!" Charlie smiled widely. Maxwell pulled the deck of cards from his jacket and performed for the audience the same trick that he showed off to Wilson in the library. Wilson watched as the audience members became almost hypnotized by Maxwell's every action, and he soon became captivated by him as well. The way he moved was almost surreal. He fanned out the cards with sharp, precise movements, and drew one from the pile with a grand sweep of the arm. He showed it to the audience, moving it so everyone could see it ever so slowly before expertly sliding it back into the pile and shuffling the deck. Wilson couldn't pull his eyes away. He watched, enchanted, as Maxwell pulled a random card from the pile and showed it to the audience.

"Is this your card?" He asked, his smooth voice deep like the sound of an oboe. His suave tone sent shivers up Wilson's spine and he felt his heart begin to pound in his chest like a drum. The audience members gasped, and a few of the drunker ones asked loudly how he did it. Maxwell chuckled, slipped the rest of the deck into his coat pocket, and flicked the card the way he had earlier. As expected, it changed into the black Joker card, and the whole room went dead silent for a few seconds before everyone began to flip out.

"Holy shit, that was awesome!" Willow shouted. "Don't you think it was awesome, Wilson?"

"WITCH! He's a goddamn WITCH!" A drunken man slurred out. A woman with red hair stood next to him, and she covered his mouth and pulled him away from the group, mumbling something. Wilson thought she could pass as Woodie's sister or something.

"How did you do it?" A more sober person at the front of the group asked Maxwell, who just slipped the card into his pocket and placed a finger to his lips.

"Give it up for the great Maxwell!" Charlie motioned to Maxwell with a wide smile and the crowd burst into applause. Wilson clapped so hard his hands and part of his left wrist turned red. Maxwell grinned and bowed.

"Encore!" Someone shouted, and soon several people began repeating it.

"Yeah, encore!"

"Do something else!"

"Encore, encore!"

Maxwell and Charlie looked a bit surprised and exchanged glances.

"Uh...should I?" The magician asked, some of his confidence seemingly peeling away.

Charlie nodded eagerly. "I don't see why not. Why don't we do that fancy disappearing act of yours? That one is a real crowd pleaser."

Maxwell contemplated this for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, everybody, simmer down. Simmer down, I say. One final trick for tonight, and then we must go."

There was a collective "awww" from the audience, Wilson and Willow included.

"For this next act, I'm going to need a sheet of some sort." The magician continued, and out of the corner of his eye Wilson saw someone rush out of the room. They returned a few moments later with a folded bedsheets in their hands, and the detective saw that it was Lucy. She approached Maxwell and handed it to him. The magician took it and she melted back into the crowd. Maxwell handed the sheet over to his assistant and she unfolded it. She smiled, pausing for emphasis, and an aura of anticipation radiated from the crowd. Charlie mumbled something under her breath, tossed the sheet and expertly tossed the sheet so that it covered Maxwell entirely while still in midair. Just before it moved to make Maxwell visible, she snapped her fingers, and the magician was gone when the sheet hit the floor. The crowd gasped and there was a chorus of "oooh"s.

"Woah." Wilson mumbled, staring at the spot where Maxwell once stood with amazement.

"Don't worry, don't worry. I'll bring him back." Charlie assured the crowd to soothe the nerves of the few that were starting to become visibly worried by this. She mumbled something under her breath and picked the sheet back up. Everything seemed as though it was going as planned thus

far. "This'll bring him back. Don't worry."

She tossed the sheet back up and snapped her fingers, but what happened next was likely not part of the show and took everyone by surprise. Rather than bring Maxwell back as intended, the lights went out, leaving the party in complete darkness.

Someone screamed, followed by the sound of glass shattering. A man with a heavy Scottish accent shouted "Aye, who turned the fuckin' lights out?"

"Shut yer blasted trap, I'm tryin' tah fix it." Someone, presumably a woman, shouted back. She had an accent, too, but it definitely wasn't Scottish. Wilson's pulse raced and he listened in anticipation, waiting to see or hear what was to come next.

It was probably around twenty seconds before the lights turned back on. Nothing seemed too out-of-place at first. Wilson looked around to see that mostly everyone, including Charlie, looked rather frazzled by the sudden power outage. Maxwell was also standing next to Charlie in the same place as he was before, looking slightly confused.

"What just happened?" The magician asked, pressing a hand to the side of his head. "Oh, god, I've got the worst headache..."

Out of nowhere, someone screamed. This wasn't just any scream, either. This was a loud, bloodcurdling screech that nearly made Wilson jump out of his skin. Willow clung to her brother but didn't make a sound. "Oh my god! Someone get in here!" It sounded like it was coming from the next room over, and a few people tried to leave the room before Woodie stopped them.

"Hold on, everyone. Stay here for now. We don't want to cause a huge scene. Is Wilson in here?" The man asked, and a few people near the detective and his drunk sister pointed at them.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm here." Wilson pried Willow off his shoulder again and made his way over to the

door on shaking legs. He did _not_ like where this was going.

"Thank god." Woodie sighed. "Come with me. We'll check this out together."

"Hey, I wanna help!" Willow complained and tried to follow her brother but was stopped. "Willow, no. You're too drunk to think right. Just stay here." Wilson told her. The female detective groaned but didn't complain. Her brother and Woodie exchanged glances, took a deep breath, and exited the room to see what was the matter.


	3. Behind the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, someone did a bad.

The scream sounded like it had come from the library, so that's where the two men went. Woodie placed a shaky hand on the doorknob to the room and looked over at Wilson.

"Ready?" He asked apprehensively. Wilson nodded, trying to swallow his own fear. "Here goes." The man opened the door and immediately they saw two people in the middle of the room. A woman with curly red hair looked up at Wilson and Woodie as soon as they entered the room. Next to her was a buff man around her age with darker hair and a moustache. The two looked absolutely horrified by something, and their terror was apparent when they looked up at the two men standing in the doorway.

"Mr. Marchand! Thank god you're here." The redhead cried. "Wolfgang and I tried to find the breaker box and accidentally stumbled in here. Apparently someone else must have fixed the lights, and when they came back on...." She motioned to a lump on the floor. Woodie recoiled in disgust, but Wilson couldn't tell what it was and dared to step forward for a closer look.

"Oh, god." He muttered when he realized what it was. It was the body of a woman that was probably in her forties in a modest grey dress with long sleeves and a frilled collar. She had long brown hair that was showing signs of greying and was pulled back in a tight bun atop her head. Her eyes were shut and her lips were pursed tightly. On the abdomen and throat of the body, there were large red bloodstains that were so fresh that the liquid was still spreading through the fabric of the dress.

"That's kind of what I said." The redhead woman trembled and leaned up against the man that was presumably Wolfgang.

"Jesus, Wigfrid." Woodie gasped and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I...this is awful. How could someone have done this?"

"I don't know..." Wigfrid wrung her hands together. "I don't even know who this is."

"That's one of the public library staff members, Agnes Wickerbottom. I'm not sure who she came with because I don't recall inviting her myself. Maybe Lucy invited her. I don't know." He shook his head. "That doesn't explain how she got in here, though."

"Maybe it does." Wilson knelt down for a closer look at Wickerbottom's body. "It could be that the person who invited her waited for an opportunity to pull her in here and wipe her out. But if that's the case, then why would they choose a party full of people?"

"Jesus, I don't know, Wilson." Woodie sighed. "I just...wow. This is a shock. What should we do about this...body?"

"Don't let anyone else in here." Wilson stood up. "Tell everyone that there's been an accident and send them home. We've got to keep this quiet. Do you have a telephone?"

"I do." Replied the nervous host.

"Call the police and have them check this mess out. I'd love to do it myself, but Willow is a wreck when she's drunk and I fear if we keep her here she'll get sick or pass out." The detective turned to the woman and her companion. "You two. What are your names again?"

"Wolfgang." The buff man pointed to himself and said. He had a heavy Russian accent.

"And I'm Wigfrid." The woman trembled slightly.

"Right. Wigfrid and Wolfgang. I need you two to stay here." The detective commanded.

"Why?" Wigfrid asked.

"Because the two of you are awfully suspicious considering where you were when we found the body. Stay right there while Woodie calls the authorities." Wilson crossed his arms over his chest.

"I can guarantee you Wolfgang and I had nothing to do with this." Wigfrid's expression suddenly became angry. "We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Words don't mean a thing when you've got a body at your feet. We need evidence to determine who did what."

"Neither of us are wearing bloody clothes!" The woman objected loudly. "Does it look like we could have made this mess?!"

"Listen up, ma'am. I don't want to start trouble with you, especially because the two of you seem very distressed right now. However, given the circumstances, I have no choice but to keep the two of you in the room unless the police say otherwise. You'll get to go home in due time" Wilson reassured. "Besides, it's been a pretty wild night and I'm not about to jump to any conclusions here."

Wigfrid huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. Do what you must, but I swear we have nothing to do with this." She pointed at the body.

"The more your protest, the more suspicious you seem." Wilson leered at her and she leered back. They quickly broke eye contact, though, when they heard the door open and looked to see a horrified Lucy standing in the doorway.

"Oh my god..." She squeaked out. Woodie nodded grimly.

"I know, darling. It's terrible. We have no idea how it happened." He sighed and Lucy hugged him tightly.

"This is terrible. Wilson, what should we do?" The woman looked up at him.

"I've asked Woodie to call a constable to investigate this mess since Willow's drunk and I probably need to go home and look after her." The detective replied.

"Alright then. I suppose that means the party's off. I'll go and tell the guests to get--"

Lucy was cut off by yet another scream from the doorway. This one, however, was even louder than the last. They collectively turned around and saw Willow looking into the room with horror not too far behind where Lucy had stood.

"No way..." Her knees buckled and she seemed to have trouble standing. Her face was paler than usual as well, likely from a mixture of alcohol and fear. Not a good combination. A few other people heard her screams and came running to the doorway, too. They looked mortified and a few called on for others to come and look. Wilson groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. So much for keeping this situation quiet, he thought.

"What the hell happened in here?" Someone asked. Hushed whispers spread through the mass of people piling up behind the door.

"That's just what we're trying to figure out." Wilson shouted, quickly becoming irritated. "Everyone, stay calm. Please!"

Of course, you can't tell a crowd of twenty or more people to calm down and expect them to listen. Despite Wilson's words, the crowd of people still radiated an aura of uneasiness, and hushed whispers spread from person to person. Wilson spotted a very concerned looking Charlie and Maxwell some ways away from the door, some of the people surrounding them pressed up against their sides in an attempt to see what was in the room. He noticed that Maxwell looked a bit strange, almost like he was hiding something. The man's eyes occasionally focused on the body in the room, then quickly shifted away. On a few occasions, he actually appeared to make eye contact with Wigfrid, and the two glared at each other for a few seconds before looking away. Wilson thought that action a bit strange.

Just then there was a knock at the front door.

"Excuse me." Lucy bowed her head and slunk through the crowd. A moment later, she returned with a tall police officer by her side. "Pardon me, madam. Sorry." She and the officer made their way through the crowd and into the room. Wilson recognized the man she was with on the spot.

"Ah, Constable Frederick." Wilson shook hands with the man. The two knew each other and had worked together several times at catching criminals. Frederick was the closest thing Wilson had to a true-blue friend besides his own sister, and they occasionally stayed late at the office to talk over trivial things the way friends do. He was taller than the detective with thin blonde hair tucked up into an officer's hat and striking green eyes.

"Detective Higgsbury. Wonderful to see you again." Constable Frederick looked down at the body. "Oh, dear. What happened?"

"There was a twenty-five second blackout during a party and these two found the body when they came back on." Wilson pointed a thumb at Wigfrid and Wolfgang, who nervously wrung their hands at the sight of the officer.

"Interesting." Frederick looked the two up and down.

"I'm going to have to ask you to do this investigation tonight, my friend." Wilson requested. "I'd love to stay, but my sister's potted to the high heavens and I need to take her home early. I am so, so sorry."

"Understandable. My brother tends to get the same way on nights like this." Frederick nudged him. "Go home and look after her, then. I'll let you know of my findings tomorrow morning at the office."

"Thank you. Woodie, thank you for inviting me. It was wonderful to see you here." Woodie and Wilson shook hands. "And Lucy, it was wonderful meeting you."

"It was wonderful meeting you, too." Lucy replied, a little flatly. Wilson couldn't blame her. She was probably numb and tired from all this, as was he.

"Alright, everyone, please head home so Constable Frederick can carry this investigation out." Wilson asked of the crowd of people by the door, and they didn't seem to want to object. Lucy led the guests to the door and one by one they filed out.

"Come on, Willow bean." Wilson lifted his sister's arm over his shoulder to steady her. "Let's go home."

"Aww, but broski..." She slurred, resting her head against his shoulder.

"No buts. Let's go." He nodded at Lucy, mouthing another 'thank you', and hauled his drunken sister out the door. Fortunately, they found a parked cab not too far down the road and from there everything was a blur. Wilson barely registered asking the driver for a ride, returning home, paying the fine, stumbling into the house and passing out. 


	4. A Brief Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson takes his job quite seriously.

    By some miracle the next morning, Wilson awoke in his own bed still in his formal clothes. It took him a moment to process why he wasn’t in his usual nightwear, but then he remembered the party from the night before. Along with the memory of the party came the memory of Maxwell, of Willow getting drunk, and of the murder, all in technicolor as if he was still there.

    _The murder_. The detective sat up with a start. Thank god he hadn’t forgotten about that. Wilson leapt out of bed and hastily changed into a white shirt, trousers, coat, and boots for work. He made a mental note to get his suit pressed again at some point this week since it got wrinkled from sleep the night before. He glanced over to the clock and saw that he was on the verge of being late and quickly grabbed his bag from beside the wardrobe. He wanted to get down to the agency as soon as possible and ask Constable Frederick what he had found.

Stepping out of the room, he noticed that Willow was not yet awake. Normally she was up a bit earlier than she was. He was about to call out when he heard a moan of pain coming from her room. Cautiously, he cracked open the door to investigate.

    “Willow?” He asked softly. His sister rolled over in bed so she faced the door.

    “Ugh...Wilson, what happened last night?” She asked weakly. Wilson knew that tone of voice. She had a hangover, and it sounded like it was a bad one.

    “You got drunk off your ass at Woodie’s party last night. Drank a whole bottle of wine.” Her brother replied and she laughed weakly.

    “Yep. Sounds about like something I would do.” She replied. “Ugh, I’ve got the worst headache I think I’ve ever had. Just...go to work, okay?”

    “Hope it clears up soon.” Wilson ducked into the room, kissed her on the forehead, and left as soon as he’d come, quietly shutting the door behind him. He barely heard her mumble back a ‘thank you’ and roll over in bed again.

    Hastily, he exited the dwelling and fast-walked his way to the office three or so blocks from where they lived. On the way there, he reviewed the details of the night before in his head. He played over his memory of meeting Maxwell and Charlie, of finding Willow drunk in the sitting room, of the magic show and the blackout. He couldn’t piece together much of anything since it was still early and he was trying to wake up, which made him all the more excited to hear from the constable what he had found the night before. He fully recalled, however, the exchange between himself and the magician in the library the night before. His heart still drummed in his chest when he thought of the lovely smile the magician wore as they talked, but he scolded himself for becoming flustered when he dwelled on it for a beat longer than he should have. A murder had just happened, and here he had the audacity to think of things like this. ‘Shameful,’ he chided himself. ‘Absolutely shameful!’

The detective made it into the office a mere minute before he would have been considered late, panting heavily.

    “Well, you’re quite early for someone who was up past midnight partying.” Constable Frederick was at his desk waiting for Wilson when he came in. “You know, I wouldn’t have counted you tardy had you come in at a later time. Not after what happened last night.”

    “Well, that would have been nice to know.” The detective sat down. “So tell me about what you found. I’m interested.” He picked up a pen with his left hand and pulled a clean sheet of paper from the desk drawer with his right, ready to jot down everything he was about to be told.

    “You know, I’m still trying to piece together what I saw myself.” Frederick sighed and slumped back against the wall. “There was no bloody clothing or weaponry found on the premises, the window of the library was completely shattered, and there were no footprints.”

    “Hm. Strange.” Wilson commented, frantically scribbling down what he had been told.

    “Do you know what’s even more strange?” The constable tipped the rim of his hat upward. “The glass from the window was _outside_ of the house. Someone shattered it from the inside. There weren’t any prints in the yard that we could find to signify an escape, however, other than our own. Nobody saw anyone besides Agnes enter the library, either.”

    “That’s quite strange.” Wilson mulled this over for a moment and nodded. “Especially considering that window could have easily just been opened if a man wanted to escape the room in a more quiet way. What do you deduce from this?”

    “Wilson, I don’t know. Answering questions like that is more or less your job.” Frederick sighed.

    “If there’s no evidence to show someone escaped the property, the window was probably only shattered as a distraction. I distinctly remember that it came after we heard the woman scream. Therefore, the only real reason a person would have gone to the extent of shattering the window would be to get someone to notice the body sooner.” He jotted this down next to his other notes. “Hm. I wonder why, though?”

    “Who knows.” The constable shrugged. “I do know one thing, though.”

    “And that is what?”

    “The perpetrator was someone who was present at the party, but it was neither the redhead nor the Russian that you say found the body first.”

    “Is that so?” Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Just what makes you say that?”

    “I put them both through the metaphorical wringer. The redhead--I forgot her name--had a damn strong alibi. Several other people saw her in the room before the lights went out. I talked to a few of the people that stuck around the property even after you left. One of them claimed they heard her say something about going to fix the breaker. As for the Ruskie, I dunno. He seemed a bit fishy. He was real nervous, and since he didn’t speak English very well I couldn’t get much from him. However, like I said, there was no bloody clothing or weaponry pointing to either of them being the killer, so those two aren’t very high on my list of suspects.”

    “Hm. I actually saw the redhead shortly before the lights went out myself, but I’m still not in total agreement of that. You might want to move them farther up your list just in case.” Wilson tapped the fingers of his free hand against the desk. “Who else is on your list, anyway?”

    “I was told about that magician by the girl and a few of the other guests.” Frederick replied and Wilson felt his heart stop.

    “Maxwell?”

    “You know that man?”

    “I do.” Wilson nodded. “We talked together in that same library before his... _assistant_ asked to come perform for the guests--”

    “You two spoke together in that same library?” Frederick reiterated and Wilson nodded again, slowly. “That sounds more than a bit fishy to me. Tell me more. What exactly did the two of you talk about?”

    “The party, what we did for a living, his magic tricks. We were very casual with one another despite never meeting in the past.” The detective replied. “In retrospect, it does seem a bit strange.”

“May I ask just what else about him was suspicious besides this?” The constable crossed his arms over his chest.

Wilson choked down his memory of the two talking together in the library and that spark of infatuation that ignited as the conversation progressed. “Some of what he did afterwards was a bit strange, too.”

    “Like?” The officer leaned forward and raised an eyebrow.

    “Well…” Wilson tried not to fumble over his words. “He was a bit unsure of performing this card trick for me when we were alone, but he seemed to have no trouble pulling a bigger stunt off in front of a crowd. He seemed...what’s the word. _Apprehensive_ about showing off to one person. Unwilling to do so, perhaps...because it was an inconvenience of sorts.” He cocked an eyebrow and felt inside like a puzzle piece had been clicked into place. Now he was onto something.

    “Strange.” Frederick leaned back against the wall. “Maybe he and his assistant planned this murder out, and you asking to see that trick was standing in the way of their plan.”

    “Yeah?” Wilson really didn’t want to carry this conversation out anymore. The possibility of his own murder happening in the place of that old woman was deeply unsettling to him. What would Willow have thought? In a way, it felt like he’d dodged a proverbial bullet.

    “Yeah. Maybe his disappearing act was really a ruse for him to sneak off and kill that woman. That just leaves motives, though. Why would he have done it?”

    “I was about to ask that question myself. Why?” Wilson switched the pen over to his right hand and continued writing, as his left was becoming worn out. “Wouldn’t we have noticed bloody clothing, too? God, so many questions.”

    “That’s what we need to find out. This magician guy interests me, you know, shady as he may be. That’s why I need you to do something, detective.” Frederick tipped his hat farther back, some wispy strands of hair falling into his face.

    “And that is what?”

    “I need you to track down this ‘Maxwell’ guy and talk to him yourself.” The constable grinned and Wilson choked on air.

    “Excuse me, what?” He asked. “You’re serious.”

    “Um. You had no problem talking with him last night, didn’t you?” Frederick raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure this will be no different. Now, I don’t think this very moment is an appropriate time. We should wait until past noon. That time would be better, I think.”

    “ _We_ should wait?” Wilson scoffed. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to go solo? Make up your mind.”

    “Higgsbury, you know what I mean.” The officer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be a wiseass. If it wasn’t for us being friends, I would have reprimanded you for that.”

    “Alright, alright. I get your point. I’ll file some paperwork regarding the incident, hunt down his address, and head out  that way after lunch.” Wilson set his pen down. “I assume you want me to use the phone book for this one.”

    “No shit I want you to use the phone book. I’m pretty sure going door-to-door asking ‘Does a sketchy-looking magician and his girlfriend live here? No? Well, good day to you, then.’ isn’t going to be very effective.”

    Wilson laughed, but inside he still felt uneasy about this. “Yes, okay, I get it. And with that, I’ll be setting to work now, so go do...whatever you do during this time.”

    “Good luck.” Frederick left the room, and as soon as he was gone with the door shut behind him, the detective put his head in his hands with a groan.

    “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He muttered, feeling a number of things. The idea that he’d chatted and possibly, _possibly_ found romantic interest in a murderer the night before made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t hunt down criminals to sleep with them, he hunted them down to throw them in the slammer and publicly denounce them for their actions. The idea of him having to do such a thing to Maxwell made him irrationally anxious despite his lack of knowledge on who this person was. He sighed, slumped back in his office chair, and decided to make a deal with himself. He’d go to see the magician later that day and observe him in his surroundings very, very carefully. If it was enough to make him a believable candidate for murder, he’d get himself to harden up one way or the next and do everything he could to make sure he got sent to the slammer.

    Mulling over his plan, Wilson couldn’t help but laugh at himself. He knew fairly well that one could not recover from infatuation on command. That wasn’t how this sort of thing worked.

‘Besides,’ he thought smugly, ‘I would know better than to fall for a criminal.’

With this in mind, he rummaged through a cabinet, found a phone book and folded-up map of the city, and set to work hunting down this address.

 


	5. To the Magician's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson bumps into a familiar face on his way to see Maxwell. Maybe they have a bit of information for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, this writing deviates a bit from my usual writing style in that everything's a bit shorter and less detailed. It's mostly because that's how I used to write but also because it puts less stress on me to put a bunch of content out at one time. I hope everyone understands <3 thank you for reading this far!

The time Wilson decided to leave at was 12:30, and it came faster than he had expected. He’d finished his paperwork for the day and had just tracked down Maxwell’s address when Frederick burst into the room.

“Wilson! It’s time!” He urged and the detective began to pack up his bag.

“I understand, constable. No need to pressure me.” Wilson waved him off. “I’ve got the address and was just about to head that way anyhow.”

“Be safe.” Frederick urged. “If the best detective in all of London dies because of one of my crazy plans, I’ll never live with myself.”

“Calm down, man, I’ll be fine.” The detective replied. “I won’t die, and if I do, I’m going to personally come back and haunt the shit out of that man. Then you’ll know it really was him.”

Frederick laughed. “Catching criminals even after death. That’s exactly how I imagine you after you go out, you know. See you later.”

“Hold down the place while I’m gone.” Wilson replied and hurriedly left, pulling his hood up over his head.

From what the phone book and map of the town had told him, the magician’s home was a two-and-a-half blocks away from the office and he’d be able to make it in fifteen minutes if he walked fast enough. The streets were still a bit wet from yesterday’s rainfall, but otherwise, it was fairly nice outside for England. Days like these were Wilson’s favorite. He pulled his coat tighter over his shoulders and kept his eyes down, hoping no one from the party would walk past him by chance and recognize him out here. Worst case scenario; it would happen, he would just explain to the person that he was in a rush, and from there he’d be on his way. Best case scenario; no one would say a word to him, he’d remember the directions perfectly, and he’d reach the place without a problem.

He went left from the agency down the street and turned a left-hand corner. Keeping his head down, he continued to head forward and tried to think of what he was going to say to Maxwell when they finally met. ‘Oh, hello, sir. I’m sure you remember me from last night’s party. I’m here on business to check and see if you’re a killer or not, mind if I come in?’

Ah, yes. The perfect thing to say.

Immersed in his own thoughts, Wilson didn’t bother to look up and see that he’d passed a grocery store. One of the customers spotted him, despite the fact that his hood was pulled up and his head was down.

“Wilson!” She ran up to him and grabbed him by the shoulder, causing the detective to flinch and look up at her with surprise.

“Oh. Well, hello there, Charlie.” Wilson swallowed nervously. The woman wore an attractive yellow day dress with a hat of a matching color, and the rose that was in her hair the night before was not there. She smiled sheepishly and removed her hand gloved in white from his shoulder.

“Sorry. Sometimes I forget you Brits aren’t so used to physical contact.” Charlie shrugged, her black hair bobbing at her chin. “Anyway, what are you doing out here? Work stuff?”

“Actually, I was just on my way to interview your...uh...how do I call him? Significant other?” Wilson didn’t like this woman very much. Something about her was unsettling, probably her excess of American cheeriness that she wore like a new dress. The detective didn’t like that much at all and disguised his contempt with a cool expression and flat tone.

“Ohh. Maxie?” The woman chuckled nervously, leaning against the wall of the shop with one hand to support her. Wilson thought she looked extremely tired. “Yeah, him. Uhh, why?”

“He’s been put down as a prime suspect for murder.” Wilson replied flatly and the woman looked horrified.

“What?!” She gasped, attracting the attention of a few passers-by.

“Yes, it’s true. Maxwell’s a suspect, and as part of my job I have to talk to him about last night’s events.” Wilson shoved his hands as deep into his pockets as possible.

“Oh no, Wilson, you’ve got it all wrong. My Maxy would never do such an awful thing like murder.” Charlie looked around, making sure no one had their full attention on the two. “I assume this interview is to be conducted at our residence?”

“That it is, ma’am.” The detective nodded. So the two of them lived together. Interesting.

“I’ll tell you what. I just finished getting what we need for the week, so you can walk there with me. On the way, I’d be happy to give you some information that you may or may not need. Does that sound good to you?” She cocked an eyebrow and awaited a response. Wilson thought this over for a moment. He recalled Maxwell saying that she had a tendency to brag on the people in her life often and wondered if he was going to get nothing but an earful of how wonderful her date was on the way there. Nonetheless, he decided it would be a good idea if he went anyhow and nodded. The extra guidance there would be a help, and besides, maybe she did have some useful information with her after all.

Her eyes lit up upon receiving an affirmative answer. “Fantastic! Let’s go, then. Don’t want people to be staring at us.” She nodded in the direction of the street ahead of them and off they went. Charlie seemed to almost trudge alongside the detective’s side and she carried the bundle of groceries in her arms like they weighed a ton, but nonetheless she maintained a radiant and happy smile. Wilson figured the police grilled her the night before, too. “Maxy should be home, along with his niece Wendy. I’ll keep her busy so that the two of you can talk. Then again, Wendy will likely avoid you on her own, so that may not be necessary.”

“I see. She’s shy?” Wilson tried to imagine what the girl would look like in his head.

“No. She’s...erm... _ eccentric _ . She refuses to get close with people because she’s got this weird obsession with death and thinks it a waste to make friends when they’re just going to die anyway.”

“Jesus, that’s morbid.” Wilson sucked in his breath. “How old is she?”

“Nine.” Charlie sighed. “It’s awful. Her twin, Abigail, died under circumstances no one in the family can explain. The two were very close and the death absolutely devastated her. They had weird interests before, but now the only thing little Wendy’s focused on is the afterlife. Hopefully she’ll recover on her own, or else we’ll have to send her to an asylum soon.”

Wilson mulled over these words for a moment. Their own parents had died shortly before Willow and Wilson officially became adults, so he knew a thing or two about loss from that.

“Ma’am, something you’ve got to understand is this: no one ever fully recovers from loss. Yes, she may get  _ better _ , but no one can get completely over that sort of thing. They just don’t.” He looked up at Charlie and said. She thought his words over for a moment.

“Then what do you suggest we do about it?” She asked slowly.

“That I don’t know. I’m a detective, not a child therapist.” Wilson sighed. “In any case, I’m sorry about all that.”

“It’s alright. For the most part, we’re used to it.” Charlie shrugged. “So. What exactly is it that makes Maxwell a suspect? I’m dying to know.”

“Well, there’s few things.” The detective pulled his hood back up. The woman stared at him, expecting more of an answer, but Wilson silently refused to give her one. What if they were accomplices? It would be a bad idea to let any information slip that might help them go behind his back. In a way, he felt like he’d said too much already. Still, he couldn't just shade her all the way to Maxwell’s residence. “A few of the guests said he was looking pretty shady that night, and from the way you’re acting, so are you.”

“Oh, I assume  _ that  _ little bit came from the red-headed bitch?” Charlie rolled her eyes in disgust.

“Dunno. I wasn’t there for the interview, unfortunately.”

“Well, she--her name is Wigfrid, in case you didn’t know--and Maxie don’t exactly...cooperate. They’ve known each other for a while and Wigfrid can’t stand him. We can’t stand her either. She was in the room when you guys found the body, right?” They turned a corner and Wilson thought it a bit odd that she’d know this, but then again, the entire party saw them in there.

“Yeah. The constable wrung as much info as he could from her, though, and determined she couldn’t have committed the murder.”

“How can you be sure?” Charlie questioned. “She could just be saying things.”

“There was no solid evidence, and if there was, I wasn’t told about it.” The detective shrugged. “How come Wigfrid and Maxwell don’t get along?”

“Wigfrid’s an actress and occasionally Maxwell’s performances interfere with whatever it is she’s doing.” The woman rolled her eyes. “God, she’s insufferable when she’s upset. They argue and bicker every time they see one another. Even if she didn’t do it, I can see her trying to set him up.”

“Interesting.” Wilson jotted this down in his head.

“Yeah. Does that help any?”

“It does, thank you. Anything else?”

Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, some of what you’ve been saying about Maxwell being a suspect makes a bit of sense when I think about it.” She admitted after a while.

“Is that so.”

“Yes.” She nodded, her tone becoming more serious. “When I think about it, I can see why he’d be a likely candidate completely.”

“Why?” Wilson’s curiosity spiked.

“Well, between you and me,” They were coming up on a cluster of houses, and Charlie stopped. Between labored breaths, she spoke. “He’s been acting a bit jittery since last night, and there’s been something off about his behaviors the past few days. Wendy says she thinks something’s afoot with him as well. We’re not sure what’s wrong. There’s been no family drama or anything of the sort recently, and work appears to be going fairly well for us, so I don’t see a reason why he’d be so high-strung all the time.”

“Huh. Thank you for the info. Should I ask him about that when I see him?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, but--actually, go ahead. Let’s hear what he has to say about it.” Charlie laughed and they continued walking. “Our house is right...here.” They stopped a few meters away in front of one dwelling that was marked with the numbers ‘529’ and painted noticeably darker than the surrounding residences. She hopped up the steps leading up to the door and knocked. Wilson hesitated and stayed at the foot of the stairs. Charlie looked back at him expectantly.

“Well? Come on, what are you waiting for?” She motioned for him to follow and he obeyed silently. A few seconds later, Maxwell answered the door in a casual three-piece suit. It seemed to take a moment for him to process that Wilson was standing next to his girlfriend.

“Oh. Welcome back, Charlie.” He smiled at the woman and looked down at the detective, expression becoming a little more neutral. “And Detective Wilson. What a surprise to see you here.”

“Hi.” Wilson awkwardly fumbled with the inner lining of his pockets. He could see the magician’s face much better in this lighting, and he had to admit, the man had quite a charm to him. The detective knew he was above falling for such things, though, and so pressed on; “I’m here on business. I need to interview you.”

“Ah.” The magician’s face fell immediately. “Is this about...you know…”

“Last night? Perhaps.” The detective straightened his back, trying to assert his dominance as the authority figure he was. Fuck, this guy was actually a lot taller than he remembered...and so was Charlie, come to think of it. 

“Ah, I should have known this would happen.” Maxwell sighed and Charlie reached out to touch his arm. “Come in, I’ll answer any questions you have.”

 


	6. Within the House Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Carter family! They're mostly a normal bunch.
> 
> Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forensics & criminal investigation in the 1910s-1920s was, as far as I can see, kind of...screwy. as the great john mulaney once said, "here's how easy it was to get away with bank robbery back in the 30s -- as long as you weren't still there when the police arrived, you had a 99% chance of getting away with it." the same can be said for any other crime you could think to commit back then, actual forensic technology was hardly a thing as far as the resources I've checked out for it have shown.
> 
> yes, i'm doing actual research to write this fic. god help me i'm in too deep again 
> 
> anyway, hope you lovelies enjoy!! feedback is always much appreciated<3

“I know you’re innocent, Maxie, it’s alright.” Charlie reassured her lover and Wilson’s ears perked up. She was just trash talking Maxwell moments ago, wasn’t she? Something didn’t fit in that picture. “Let Wilson in and we’ll get this all sorted out.”

“Thank you, darling.” The other man replied, leading the two at his doorstep in. “Did you bring him here, Charlie?”

“Sort of,” The woman nodded, yawning. “I bumped into him on the way home from the store. He said he was looking for you so I brought him here.”

“Ah.” The magician raised his eyebrows and shut the door. Wilson looked around the inside of the house. It seemed much bigger on the inside, and much darker, too. Hardly was there a light or candle in the entirety of the narrow hallway before him, and the only light seemed to be coming from the windows in the front and back of the house. To the left side was a sitting room and a hallway, and to the right a wooden staircase painted black. The wallpaper was a dark and rich purple, the furnishings being of a similar dark tone. Wilson drew in all the information like a sponge; he didn’t know if this house’s layout would be relevant to something later on. Everything had a very ‘goth’ style to it, and the one thing in the house that stood out to the detective was a pale little girl standing at the top of the staircase.

“Uncle Maxwell, who’s that man?” She asked, her voice echoing from the landing. Her skin was strikingly pale, with blonde hair similar in hue and dark circles under her eyes. One could almost say she looked like a ghost. Tucked behind her ear was a rose-pink aster, and an identical flower was resting in her hands. Wilson immediately knew it was Maxwell’s niece Wendy, and he was correct.

“This is Detective Higgsbury, Wendy.” Maxwell said, casually putting a hand on the detective’s shoulder. Wilson stiffened at the unexpected contact. “Why don’t you stay upstairs while he and I have a chat?”

Wendy thought about this for a moment. “May I introduce him to Abigail first?” She asked, clutching the flower in her hands.

Maxwell shook his head. “No, dear, you know the rules. This is a very important matter and we need some space, okay?” He spoke to the girl in such a evenly calm but firm way to her that Wilson couldn’t help but be impressed. One wouldn’t think from the magician’s appearance that he would be good with children. On another note, who was Abigail? Neither he nor Charlie ever mentioned somebody by that name to him.

Wendy sighed. “Well, if you so insist. Mr. Higgsbury, it would be quite a shame if this were the last time we met.” With that said, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the dark upstairs. Charlie shook her head with an amused smile.

“Oh, that child.” She laughed. “I’ll put the groceries away now, Maxy. Let me know if you boys need anything.” She kissed her partner on the cheek and took the bundle in her arms into the kitchen. Maxwell turned to the detective.

“Come, let’s sit. I’m surprised you were the one sent to interview me, you know.” Wilson followed him into the sitting room and sat stiffly in an armchair. Across from him, Max seated himself in an identical one, and between the two was a medium-sized table with a chess board painted on it. Currently, the board sat empty.

“Is that so.” Wilson wracked his brain for what to ask first. “So, your niece--”

“Oh, do excuse her strangeness, please. She’s only nine, and the loss of her twin has put a great emotional burden on her shoulders.” The magician rested his arms on the sides of the chair.

“Yes, I believe Charlie mentioned something like that to me on our way over.” The detective leaned back in the chair.

“Why am I not surprised.” Maxwell pursed his lips. “I assume your coming has something to do with that murder.”

“You’ve assumed correctly.” Wilson took off his hat and set it on his lap. “I’ve a few questions for you regarding last night. See, after interviewing most of the witnesses and investigating the scene of the crime, everyone in my detective firm is convinced you’re the one who did it. Everyone, except for me.” Now was the time for him to play a little dirty. Acting like he was totally on Maxwell’s side was not the most honest method of getting him to open up, but detective work could get a little morally ambiguous at times. It was a method that had worked in the past, so Wilson had no qualms with dipping his feet in the waters of immorality to lie a little and get what he needed now.

“Is that so? Me, out of all the faces at that party?” Maxwell asked.

“Yes.” One would think that the magician would have a bit more self-awareness about the prior night’s events. “I’m sure you can understand why, seeing as you were the only person missing from that room when the murder occurred, besides the victim themselves. By all accounts, you’re the only one who  _ could _ have done it.” 

Maxwell moaned and put his face in his hands. “Oh, this is terrible.”

“I do agree, sir.” 

“I have a girlfriend and a child.” He continued, “What if I’m arrested for a crime I didn’t commit? I don’t know what they’ll do!” 

“That’s why I’m here; to determine whether or not you should be taken in for further questioning. I ask, sir, that you cooperate with me so we can both clear your name.” Wilson replied, voice smooth like honey, and pulled from his jacket a notebook and pen. No longer were they two strangers chatting quietly, drinking in a dimly lit room where nobody could see them and where infatuation could blossom. This was much more serious, and it was time for them to act accordingly. “Did you know the victim of the murder personally?”

The magician sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. “Yes, I do. It was that librarian, Agnes Wickerbottom, correct?”

“Yes.” So he did know her somehow. “Were you two acquaintances?”

Maxwell snorted. “Hardly. She and I barely got along.”

“I see.” So they had a bit of animosity between them. Interesting. Wilson made a note of that. “Why?”

“Well...she was sort of hard of hearing and that led to miscommunications at times. But,” The magician quickly added, “I didn’t dislike her  _ nearly  _ enough to want to kill her. Charlie and Wendy can both verify that if you need them to. We just didn’t see eye-to-eye all the time. To be honest, I was actually quite saddened at the news of her death.” 

“Is that so?” Wilson asked. “Why?”

“Well, I take Wendy to the library when she’s feeling particularly down. She likes to read a lot, and she and Wickerbottom got on swell. I think if one didn’t know any better, they’d mistake her for Wendy’s grandma.” Maxwell chuckled. “It was nice, really, seeing how that woman was able to make my little girl smile.”

Wilson almost felt his heart melt. Almost.

“That’s sweet.” Was all he said, trying not to come off as too sympathetic. “I’m sure she was quite devastated to hear the news.” 

The magician went silent.

“Erm, Maxwell?”

“I haven’t actually told her yet.” The man said quietly, almost ashamed of himself. “It would break her. I’m not telling her until Charlie and I agree that the timing is right.”

“Oh.” The detective paused, then nodded. “Of course.” This was a man who clearly cared deeply for his family and wanted to keep his niece happy, so then, why kill the librarian? Wilson didn’t actually think that he’d be convinced Maxwell was innocent, but it was starting to shape up that way. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like it was your fault.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just feel the need to apologize is all.” Wilson shrugged. “I have a question regarding the scenario that led up to the murder.”

“Of course, ask away.” The magician felt inside of his jacket pocket and paused. “Do you smoke?”

“Hardly.” The detective replied. He had a pipe at home which he used only when he was deeply concentrating on something. “My sister does, though.”

Maxwell laughed dryly. “Ah, your sister. I remember her. Is she alright now?”

“She’s very hungover, but otherwise I believe she’s fine.” Wilson smiled a half smile, remembering how she’d downed an entire bottle of wine. “I don’t know how she’s still kicking, really, especially when her own twin can’t stomach alcohol nearly the way she can.” 

“Really. From the way you clung to your wine glass, I wouldn’t have guessed at that.” The magician smiled and Wilson suddenly felt his heart rate quicken. So much for being completely serious. He must have held eye contact for a second too long because Maxwell gave him an almost confused look.

“Something the matter?” He asked, snapping the other man back into reality. 

“Oh. Um, no, everything’s alright.” Quick, fumble for an excuse before he suspects something. “I just kind of worried for my sister for a moment is all. I’m sure she’s doing fine.”

“I see.” Maxwell stood up. “I seem to have run out of cigars. Stay here for a moment, will you? I’ll be back shortly.” He left the room, and as soon as he was gone another face poked into the doorway.

“Hello! You’re Wendy, right?” Wilson asked the little girl who stared back in a phlegmatic way. 

“Yes.” She said, entering the room casually.

“Your uncle just left if you’re looking for him.” The detective said. What could that child possibly want with him, after all?

Wendy shook her head, blonde ringlets of hair bouncing about her face as she did so. “I know that. I came to see you, Mr. Higgsbury.”

“Oh? For what?” Wilson saw that the child had that same pink chrysanthemum from earlier in her hands. Wendy noticed him staring at it. 

“Well, Uncle told me about you last night, when he got home. He looked quite distraught and just told me something bad had happened, and not to worry, and that he met a nice man and his description sounded much like you.” She said matter-of-factly, looking the detective up and down. Wilson’s face flushed and the child looked at him funny. “ _ Was _ it you?”

“Maybe.” He said, “Why?”

“Because uncle also told me that you didn’t believe in magic.” The child replied, clutching the chrysanthemum to her chest. “Is that true?”

“Of course. Magic isn’t real, kiddo. I’m sorry,” The detective said apologetically, “But what your uncle and Charlie do in their shows is just a trick of the eyes and nothing more.” 

Wendy scowled. “No, it’s not. Uncle Maxwell said it’s real and he never, ever lies to me. He knows I hate liars. Besides, if magic  _ weren’t _ real, then what explains my flower?” She asked, holding out the chrysanthemum for Wilson to feel. He did so, cautiously, and found that it was cold and almost satin-like to the touch. Peculiar was certainly one word for it.

“What exactly about this flower is so spectacular?” He asked, still unsure of what exactly Wendy was trying to convey to him. The child took her flower back.

“It’s magic. It holds a very special secret, you see.” She explained. “Uncle Maxwell doesn’t like me showing it off, but I think you’re a special case, Mr. Higgsbury.”

“Is that so?” Wilson nodded, playing along with what was clearly a bereaved little girl’s form of a game. He still remembered the imagination he and Willow had as children, and how delighted they were when their parents went along with their little games and schemes as if their childish selves were just as serious as the grown-ups were. “How fascinating. What sort of secret?”

“Well...” She said softly after a moment of thought, “Yes, I believe I can get her to come out today without any extra prompting.” 

“Who?” Before Wilson could speak any further, the flower began to emit a light so bright that he had to shield his eyes and turn away. When he looked back, the flower was no longer in Wendy’s hands. In fact, it was no longer anywhere at all. Now, however, there stood at Wendy’s side a little girl that looked exactly like her, her entire form a translucent white. She seemed to glow softly and stared intently at Wilson, looking him up and down before turning to Wendy and mouthing something as if to speak. No voice came from her mouth, but a noise like a very muted flute could be heard in its place.

Wilson’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. 

 


	7. White Ghosts and White Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson's curiosity appears to have gotten him into some hot water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. this fic has been out for about a week now and i've almost hit 100 reads already. have i mentioned how much i love you all?
> 
> thank you for the kudos and comments, lovelies <3

“Stars and atoms, am I seeing things?” He asked incredulously, eyeing the ghostly figure just as it-- _ she? _ \--eyed him.

“Hm? Of course not.” Wendy replied as if it were plain as day. “Oh, Mr. Higgsbury, don’t tell me you’ve never seen a ghost before!”

“A  _ ghost _ ? Tell me this is some sort of joke!” Wilson gasped. ‘Abigail’ did in fact seem to be a ghost, but ghosts weren’t actually real, right? “My god, just who exactly is this?”

“My twin.” Wendy stated matter-of-factly as though this was a normal thing. “She died very mysteriously. You see, I missed her so much she decided she never wanted to leave me, so now we’re always together. Uncle Maxwell doesn’t like it when I show her off to strangers, but I thought you might want to meet her.”

“I…” How was one supposed to respond in situations like this? “Thank you? Stars, that’s the most marvellous thing I’ve ever seen. You must let me research this a little further.” He reached out to poke Abigail but his finger went right through her. She felt cold, like if tinfoil could be melted down and chilled but still kept in liquid form. Abigail shivered and pulled back from his touch with an irritated mumble.

Wendy nodded. “Of course, Mr. Higgsbury. So, what do you think? Do you think  _ science _ has some sort of explanation for this?”

“Well…” Wilson thought. “Maybe?”

The little girl sighed and shook her head. “Oh, Mr. Higgsbury, whatever shall we do with you? Abigail’s soul was bound to that flower by  _ magic _ \--you know, the thing that your science can’t explain?”

“Is that so?” Could science really not offer an answer to that? Wilson got up and slowly began to pace around the girls, eyeing Abigail up and down. At all angles, she appeared to be of the same transparency, and her eyes followed his suspiciously which meant she was clearly capable of moving on her own without Wendy manipulating anything out of sight of the detective. Dumbstruck, Wilson came back to face the girls and leaned against the side of the armchair.

“Well. You’ve got me, kiddo. Er, kiddos?” Looks like that really  _ was _ a ghost after all. The detective had already a thousand questions floating about in his mind and then some, but he was so shocked that he struggled to put any of them into words.

 

“ _ Wendy Elizabeth Carter! _ ” 

 

All three entities in the room jumped at the voice. Wendy turned to see her uncle standing in the doorway, a lit cigar in his mouth and quite the unhappy expression upon his face. “I thought I told you girls to stay upstairs.”

“Forgive me, uncle, but I overheard Mr. Higgsbury say he didn’t believe in magic. I thought seeing Abigail might change his mind.” Wendy stated, and the ghost beside her hummed something. Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Wendy, Abigail, why must you two insist on doing these things?” He sighed. “Detective Higgsbury, I am  _ so _ very sorry if they’ve bothered you.”

“What’s there to apologize for? This is fantastic!” The detective exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this! Why, if it’s that simple to summon a ghost, their existence should be common knowledge at this point!”

“But it’s not that easy, and it won’t be common knowledge any time soon. Not if we can help it.” Maxwell turned to his nieces. “You’re both in trouble, you know. Go find Aunt Charlie and please, stay with her until Mr. Higgsbury leaves.”

Abigail murmured something.

“Aunt Charlie is sleeping on the couch. She’s very tired.” Wendy translated.

“Then both of you, go to your room for now. The two of us still have some unfinished business to wrap up.” Maxwell sat back down in his armchair as the girls left the room, mumbling and grumbling the whole way. Wendy walked through the doorway and Abigail opted for passing to the wall, much to the shock of Wilson.

“So they  _ can _ pass through walls!” He marveled. “Incredible.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t run away screaming at the sight of her, you know.” The magician remarked, taking a puff on his cigar. “That’s normally what our guests do if Wendy brings Abigail out, they run off screaming and never return. We’re quite fortunate that nobody believes in ghost stories anymore, I think.”

“Well, of course not!” Wilson thought about it for a moment. Come to think of it, why  _ hadn’t _ he run? But then why run in the first place? What was there to be scared of? After all, this was a major discovery that had completely blown part of his worldview open. No, Wilson couldn’t possibly run from something as fantastic as this; he was a man who ran toward the oddities and not away. “Mr. Carter, you simply must tell me why you’ve kept Abigail’s existence a secret from the outside world. People would flock to see your shows if they knew you’d feature a ghost in it.”

Maxwell glared up at him. “I refuse to exploit my nieces in any way, shape, or form as a means of entertainment for other people,  _ especially _ when one of them is dead. Besides, forces of magic and of the supernatural do not like to be disturbed except by the people who are trained to handle them.”

“Trained to handle them...?” What was that supposed to mean?

Maxwell paused. “Nevermind. I think I’ve said enough. Is there anything else you need from me?”

All thoughts about the murder investigation and the interview were far gone from Wilson’s mind now. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“Then I must ask you to leave, and to never speak of what you’ve seen here to anybody.” Maxwell got up from his chair once again, looking quite cold in expression and very tired. “And  _ yes _ , that includes your sister. Please, for the sake of my family and yours.”

“But why? What’s the big deal about me seeing a ghost, hm?” Wilson crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re quite an inquisitive one.” The magician said it as though it were a bad thing. “And frankly, I don’t expect you to understand even if I were to explain in detail, so please, just forget this ever happened.”

“I refuse.” The detective replied flatly, “Firstly, the insinuation that I wouldn’t understand is massively insulting, and secondly, I could never simply brush something as grand as this under the rug.”

“Higgsbury, don’t be so egotistical.” Maxwell rolled his eyes. “Trust me, if I had it my way, I wouldn’t have to be so secretive about this.”

“Forgive me, but I believe I have some incentive to be curious here.” Wilson smiled a half-smile that pulled up the left side of his face, standing up as tall as he could manage but only coming up at about neck-level with Maxwell. “After all, it’s only natural for me to be curious, as I  _ am _ a detective.”

Maxwell sighed. “Of course. I should have anticipated that you would make this harder on me than it needed to be.” Thinking for a moment, his eyes lit up as though he’d had an idea. “Say, pal…” He began, a smile creeping across his lips. “Why don’t I strike a deal with you?”

Excitement almost overtook Wilson completely, but he stopped himself short of accepting and regained himself. “A deal of what sort?” The detective asked, eyeing the other man cautiously. 

“Well, let’s see. You want to learn more about the supernatural? I think I would be more than happy to help you with that. People tell me all the time, ‘Maxwell, you simply  _ must _ teach me how you pull such impressive tricks!’, but not just anyone is capable of handling such knowledge. It’s suicide for some people to even ask about it, their minds are so weak. But...you, Mr. Higgsbury, I think you can handle it. You seem to be quite an intelligent man, one with a genuinely insatiable thirst for intellect that all the forces of the unknown admire. But, in exchange for such knowledge,” Maxwell continued, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “I will need something in return.”

Wilson’s heart quickened, the mere idea of the special knowledge Maxwell spoke of being in his possession exciting him. He was beginning to think that he was now being faced with a different side of the suave magician he’d met the night before, and in a way, that excited him too. “And what may that be?”

“You’ve got the information you need from me pertaining to that murder, correct?” The man replied. Wilson froze. Was Maxwell seriously about to  _ bribe _ him? It was an insult to him for the magician to so much as think he would ever stoop to the level of accepting such a thing, and Wilson held up a hand to cut him off.

“Mr. Carter,” He said, clearing his throat, “I’ll have to stop you right there--”

“Ah, ah, Mr. Higgsbury, don’t you get too far ahead of yourself. Let me finish talking.” The magician cooly cut him off right back, effectively dealing a blow to Wilson’s ego in doing so. “All I want from you is to go straight from here back to your workplace and tell your little friends at the detective agency everything that I’ve told you in regards to Wickerbottom’s death, down to the last detail  _ minus _ any sort of indication that anything supernatural has occurred today. You must also tell them that you’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not the killer, as I’m sure you have already, haven’t you. Then, you may come back here tomorrow to see me, and from there I’ll decide how to go about teaching you these things.” 

Another thousand questions turned over in Wilson’s head. “How will you know if I’ve done what you asked?” Was the first one he thought to ask.

“Ah, is that a yes to my proposal?” Maxwell raised an eyebrow.

“I guess so.” It wasn’t like Wilson was going to skimp out on telling his colleagues the results of the day’s little sit-down, and there was no way in hell any of them would believe the story about Abigail, so all he really had to do was what he would have done after leaving anyway. Everything seemed legitimate enough, so why not accept?

“Fantastic.” The magician snapped his fingers and his cigar put itself out. “As for how I’ll know you’ve done as I’ve asked...I’ve got ears all over town. Trust me, I  _ will _ know, and if you double back on our promise the results will not be good for you.” He discarded the burnt-out cigar in an ashtray by his armchair and held out his arm. “Let’s shake on it.” 

Wilson stared at the man for a moment and, unaware of just what he’d gotten himself into, shook.

“Thank you for coming by.” Maxwell said to Wilson as he ushered him from the house. “I do hope the rest of the investigation goes smoothly for you all.” The detective had been unusually quiet after accepting that deal, which Maxwell had been surprised he’d even accepted at all. After exchanging a quick and slightly awkward goodbye with the man, Maxwell closed the door. He hoped that his little bribe wouldn’t be spoken of to the police, but if worse came to worst, Maxwell would ensure that everything would be...cleaned up, so to speak.  _ They _ had a very skewed sense of morality, after all, and would likely give him no trouble should he command Them to do something a little more unethical than usual. Not that he’d ever  _ want _ to do that, but, again, if it had to be done to protect well-beings of the girls and Charlie then he would do it. Closing the door to the house and turning back around, he saw Wendy and Abigail standing together at the top of the stairs again.

“Girls, do you know where Charlie is?” He asked. His nieces exchanged a look and Wendy nodded.

“I believe she’s still asleep on the couch, Uncle Maxwell.” The living girl said.

“Ah. Thank you, girls. You may come downstairs now.” Maxwell responded, heading down the hallway and into the living room. His girlfriend lay sprawled out on the couch, a soft grey blanket draped over her. She was fast asleep. It was a little strange; Charlie always seemed to have enough energy to get through the day, but considering the events of the prior night, it shouldn’t have been surprising that she’d choose to nap now after barely sleeping through the night. 

“Darling, wake up.” He said, sitting down at the end of the couch and lightly shaking Charlie’s shoulder. She stirred slightly before waking up, her black hair falling messily about her head and a groggy expression on her face. She yawned, and Maxwell felt his heart melt. What a lucky man he was.

“Maxy?” She asked, sitting up. “Is that man still here?”

“No, I’ve just showed him out.” Maxwell replied, tucking a strand of his girlfriend’s hair behind her ear. “I didn’t tell him anything that could come off as incriminating, I can promise you that.”

“What sort of incriminating thing would there be to tell anyway? I know you didn’t do it, honeybun.” Charlie yawned again, leaning into Maxwell’s side. “Anyway, I’m glad you got him off our backs.”

“Mmm...not exactly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  The woman raised an eyebrow.

Maxwell sighed. “Wendy did the thing again.”

Charlie groaned. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

“What did he say? Surely he’s going to send someone to investigate us?”

“And what will he tell the police? ‘Officer, help me, I’ve seen a ghost in the magician’s house and you  _ must _ do something about it!’ People would think he’s a crackpot, and we both know for a fact that that man cares too much about upholding his reputation to even  _ think _ of putting it in jeopardy like that.” Smugly, the magician leaned back on the couch with a smile. “Wilson’s quite a proud man if I do say so myself.”

“Well, of course. What else would one expect from a man of such high social standing to be more than a little prideful? I’m surprised he wasn’t more sociable at last night’s party, you know. He almost reminded me of you.” She teased, poking him on the sternum. Maxwell chuckled.

“Oh, honey.” He said, and paused. “So I may have made a deal with him.”

“Really now?” Charlie looked at him skeptically. “Of what sort? You didn’t bribe him with cash, now, did you?”

“Not exactly.” Maxwell swallowed nervously. “In exchange for getting the police off my back, he...he wants to learn more about the nature of Abigail. Of magic in general.” Charlie gasped. 

“And you didn’t say  _ yes _ , did you?” She moaned. “Oh, Maxwell--”

“I had to. He would have framed me had I not done as he asked. Besides,” Max smiled slyly, “If They decide that They don’t like him, or if he goes against our little promise, They will have him taken care of. But it won’t come to that, my darling. I promise. The last thing either of us want is any actual blood on our hands.”

Charlie sighed in relief and hesitated before speaking again. “I hope not. Hey, Maxy?” 

“Hm?”

“Um, have you noticed how strangely They’ve been behaving lately?” The woman asked, a look of fear crossing her face. “Wendy told me just last night that one of Them tried to grab her and pull her from her bed, then stopped suddenly and receded. They don’t usually touch us without us commanding Them to.” She whispered and Maxwell felt her tense up.

“That’s extremely strange.” He remarked. “We’ll have to keep an eye on Them for now.” 

“Yes.” Charlie replied. “Let’s do that.” She kissed her partner on the cheek. “I love you, Maxy.”

“And I love you too, Charlie.” 


	8. The F Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being closeted in the 1910s has its ups and downs.  
> Mostly downs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is...a bit heavy, if you can't tell by some of the tags I've added. Warning for homophobic language, suicidal ideation, and internalized homophobia.
> 
> Sorry, just. I've been dealing with some homophobic bullshit myself recently and I kinda need an outlet to vent. It'll get better from here, I promise.
> 
> Love you guys.

“Ah, Wilson!” Frederick greeted his friend with a smile on his face. “You’ve returned in one piece!”

Wilson did not, in any way shape or form, feel like he was in one piece, yet he nodded and forced a smile anyhow.

“So it does, my friend.” He thought the constable would at least give him a moment to return to his desk and pull it together, but alas, Frederick van Gieson was not the type of man to do such a thing. Out of the corner of his eye, Wilson saw his colleague follow him back to his desk and groaned internally. For fucks sake, he’d just been punched in the ego multiple times by a horribly (dare he say it?) attractive man he was supposed to exonerate of a murder charge, not to mention the little unofficial plea that had been agreed upon by them minutes earlier that continued to bug the detective. All Wilson wanted was just a little bit of peace and quiet,  _ please _ , for the love of god even two seconds of it would do, but--

“Wilson, you  _ must _ tell me everything that happened between you and that Maxwell guy.” Frederick leaned up against the side of Wilson’s wooden desk right as the other man sat down. The detective sighed, leaning back into his seat. No escaping it now. The question now was where to begin?

“We talked for quite a bit.” Wilson said finally, leaning back forward again. The constable nodded, waiting for more details. “Mr. Carter and that librarian did know one another, and while the two of them didn’t necessarily get on well, his niece Wendy adored her. They had almost a parental relationship from what I was told, and Mr. Carter cares very deeply about his niece. I think, given the relationship between Wendy and Wickerbottom and the one between Wendy and her uncle, Maxwell Carter would have no motive to commit that murder and therefore is very likely to be innocent.” Releasing a deep breath, Wilson felt as though a weight had been taken off his chest in getting that out, but there was also a looming sense of awfulness that stuck with him even after declaring Maxwell innocent as had been requested of him. Frederick, in typical constable fashion, noticed right away that something was off.

“Ah, but you don’t seem so sure. My friend, are you well?” He asked, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. Wilson felt something catch in his throat, not because he was afraid, but...well, despite Frederick being somewhat annoying he  _ was _ especially attractive at this angle. That was easily the worst thing about him; the way his blonde hair fell about his face, lighter than his tan skin dotted with freckles and green eyes that stood out almost like neon lights--oh  _ god _ , and the top button of his shirt was undone, exposing ever-so-slightly the dip between his coworker’s clavicle bones. Inside, Wilson cursed himself strongly for letting his ever-persistent attraction to men even dare to slip into his mind at a moment like this. “Hellooo? Wilson?”

“Oh.” The detective snapped back into reality. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind at the moment is all.”

Frederick looked at him funny. “I would imagine so. There’s really so much to unpack here. Anyhow, about the murder victim. Her autopsy will happen tomorrow at seven, and we’d like you to head down to the mortuary to retrieve the results.”

“Ah.” An autopsy would certainly give everyone some more insight about how Wickerbottom died. “That’s good to know. And I should head there at what time?”

“It should be over by about nine, so be there no later than that exact time.” Frederick smirked. “And maybe you can bring your charming little sister along. She  _ is _ still single, yes?”

Wilson furrowed his eyebrows, feeling quite offended. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Fred teased, laughing. “I kid, I kid, old friend! I know your sister is quite difficult when it comes to dating, and besides, dating her would be too awkward since your faces are the exact same. It’d be like I’m dating you, and I’m not a fag, you know? So it wouldn’t work out.” He laughed again, and Wilson tried to laugh along, but the detective’s stomach wrenched hard and he felt as though he would vomit. The last thing he needed was to have his sexuality insulted, too, but unfortunately Frederick and just about everybody else seemed to have few reservations about using  _ that word _ openly. Every time it came from the mouth of the man he considered at least his best friend, Wilson felt like he was in horrible pain. He’d been shot in the shoulder, the ankle, the foot and even the abdomen once, and yet somehow that damned word always brought upon him a wave of nausea and unease that settled over him more heavily than the pain of a thousand bullet wounds. It wasn’t like he could just tell him to stop; that could potentially lead to him outing himself and he was  _ not _ about to open up like that to anyone anytime soon.

Not even to his own sister.

“Yeah, me neither.” Choking back his emotions, the detective played it off like it was nothing. “So what have you been doing in the time I was gone?”

“Not much, though I did hear one of the other officers is still interrogating that Wolfgang guy. Not sure how that’s going.”

“Ah. I’m certain there’s something to be concluded from that, even if it just means wiping another potential suspect off the list.”

“Yep, anything to move this case further along.” The constable smiled a smile that made his coworker’s heart skip a beat before the look on his face darkened a little. “One more thing. I know you said he was most likely innocent, but you should probably steer clear from that Maxwell guy.”

“Oh really.” If only it were that simple, the detective thought with an internalized eye-roll.

Frederick nodded, “Yes, I’ve heard quite a few bad things about the man. Remember that red-headed woman from last night? She’d nothing but nasty things to say about him when I spoke to her. I have a feeling that whatever good impressions he’s given you today may be nothing more than him posing as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, if you get what I mean.”

Wilson couldn’t deny his feelings about that man were mixed as well. “Of course. I’ll keep an eye on him, Fred. No need to worry about me.”

“Van Gieson!” Another officer called out from down the hallway. “You’re needed!”

“Oh, joy.” Frederick crossed his arms, not too happy with having been interrupted. “For what?”

“There was a bank robbery. They caught one of the guys but they need backup in getting the other. Hurry up already, will you, before someone gets shot!” The officer responded urgently and Frederick sighed.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you around, Wilson.” He said to his friend, smiling a honey-sweet smile that made the pain in Wilson’s stomach throb all the more harder. “Are you  _ sure _ you’re okay?”

“Yea, of course.” The detective tried to return his smile. “I’ll be fine here. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course you will. You’re tough as rock and the best detective in all of England, or at least, you are to me.” The constable chuckled. “See you around, my friend.”

“Bye.” Wilson’s eyes followed his friend all the way down the hallway until he was out of sight. When he was gone, the detective slumped back in his chair and sighed.

‘Fucking hell,’ He thought, putting his face in his hands, ‘Why am I like this?!’

  
  
  
  


“Hey, Willow?”

It was now evening and the Higgsbury twins were seated in their living room, silently reading while one of Willow’s Chopin records playing in their record player. It sounded like Prelude in E Minor, but Wilson wasn’t exactly a music person so he didn’t know for sure. Willow sat in her red armchair with her nose in a novel, and perpendicular to her lay Wilson sprawled out on the couch. The fireplace roared with a strong orange fire which cast a soft glow onto the twins, darkening in contrast the shadows that lingered within the crevices of the room. It was a lovely, relaxing sight, and yet in that moment one of the two Higgsburies was anything but relaxed.

Wilson’s brain was so overloaded with questions and feelings and all sorts of other horrible things that he was unable to focus on his own book, which lay open and pages-down on his stomach. Instead he stared up at the ceiling to let all his emotions stew inside of him the way anyone would. There was so much to unpack: the interview, those pesky flickers of infatuation amongst his newfound fear of Maxwell that  _ still wouldn’t fuck off _ , that strange deal he’d made with that magician and the supposed consequences that would have come had he gone against it, and most insane of all the fact that he’d seen a child summon a ghost as if it were a totally normal thing. One party, it seemed, was all it had taken to completely turn Wilson’s life on its head and then some. Perhaps if he’d taken time off for such an event before he’d be accustomed to this sort of shitshow.

The rest of the day had gone by painfully slowly. Of course Wilson didn’t say a word to anybody about what exactly had gone down in the magician’s house. He’d had a bad feeling the moment he shook Maxwell’s hand, a feeling that told him ‘something is seriously not right and you  _ need _ to figure it out what it is’, but the poor detective had no idea where to start in doing that. He knew, anyhow, that there was no way in fresh hell that any of his coworkers would believe him if he spilled the beans, so what was the point in doing it at all? 

He couldn’t tell Willow, either, apparently; quite a  _ massive _ help to Wilson. No sarcasm there. Even thinking about dropping hints to her in the form of a note or casual conversation brought over Wilson an anxiety so strong that he’d begin to tremble uncontrollably, making him force himself to stop thinking about it. So, one could definitely say that the detective had gotten himself into a hell of a situation. At the very least, it meant his promise to Maxwell would be kept.

“What’s the matter, Wilson? You’ve been tense ever since you came home.” Willow asked, folding down the page she was reading and shutting her book. Wilson shifted uncomfortably. God, where to start?

“Just had a rough day, I guess. That’s all.” He responded plainly, rolling over to face his sister. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes.” Willow nodded. “I barely remember last night, but when I went out at around noon today, I ran into a woman who recognized me from it and we’ve become friends. She’s quite sweet, you know, though when I brought you up she didn’t seem to be your biggest fan. Her name is Wigfrid; do you know her?”

Wilson’s eyebrows arched. “Wigfrid? Was she a redhead?”

“Yes, her!” His sister smiled. “Such a nice woman. She filled me in on a lot of the details of last night. Apparently someone died and I got blackout drunk, the latter of which I’d already figured out, but the details of that murder were positively awful!”

“Not to mention nearly impossible to have pulled off. I’ve been trying to figure out what happened in that library all day.” The detective could feel the dark circles under his eyes already.

“Ohh, dear, that explains a lot. Who the hell just goes out and murders an old lady? Not to mention there were plenty of people who could have caught them doing so! Sounds like someone wanted to draw attention to themselves without actually showing their face, if you get what I’m saying.”

“Wanted attention, huh?” Wilson chuckled halfheartedly. What a silly conclusion to draw...or at least, it sounded silly at first. Wilson remembered the shattered glass outside of the house and the blackout before that senseless killing. It did indeed seem like these things were done to draw attention to the murder, but then why bother with that when the body would inevitably be found anyway? It was almost like the killer had a flair for the dramatic, like they thought of what they were doing as a sort of twisted performance act.

“Actually, Willow, I think you may be onto something.” The male twin sat up on the couch. His sister looked surprised.

“Really? I was only speculating.” She mused.

“Sure, sure. I’ll bet you’ve been dying to help me out on a new case lately, haven’t you?” He teased. Willow rolled her eyes.

“I felt too sick half the day to even think about that sort of thing, you know. Have a bit of sympathy.” She chided him. “But anyhow, what evidence do you have for that to make sense?”

“Well...really, I think it’s more circumstantial evidence than anything, since we don’t have any clues of a person actually being around the body like bloodied clothing or a weapon.” Circumstantial evidence was easily the worst kind to work with. Even the smallest bit of counter-evidence could be enough to pull any theories one has together apart in seconds. “There was maybe only about twenty seconds for it to have happened, too, which means  _ someone _ would have to have seen a person at least disposing of the evidence.”

Willow sucked in her teeth. “Wow. That’s some Jack the Ripper-level shit right there.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Willow.” Wilson sighed and laid back down on the couch in defeat. “The entire agency’s been running their heads in circles over it all day. To say I’m tired would be an understatement.” He looked back across the room at his sister. “Tomorrow they’re doing the autopsy on the body. Would you like to come with me, just to get out of the house?” Though Wilson posed the question as if he wanted to entertain her, in reality he knew he was going to need some extra brainpower if he wanted to tackle this case the way he had some of the harder ones thrown at him in the past. His ever-enthusiastic, brilliant sister was the perfect candidate for that.

“Ooh!” Willow’s eyes lit up. “Of course! Anything to get some more insight on what happened.” She frowned. “That Frederick guy won’t be joining us, will he?”

“...Maybe?” Wilson winced and remembered him joking about wanting to court his sister, which, for the record, was definitely not a first-time occurrence. Every time it happened it left a bad taste in the detective’s mouth, and yet he couldn’t find it in him get Fred to stop. Willow huffed.

“Keep me away from him, or keep him away from me. I know you’re good friends, but I don’t exactly appreciate his romantic advances if you haven’t figured that out by now.” She said, crossing her arms firmly over her chest.

“Alright, I will. Promise.” The record stopped and Willow got up to replace it. “Hey Willow?”

“Hm?” Willow barely turned to look at him while she dug through her record collection. Wilson sucked in a breath and paused, unsure if this was a question he really wanted to ask his sister.

“What do you think about the word ‘faggot’?” He asked, wincing very slightly at the end of his question. Even saying it himself made Wilson feel disgusting. Willow noticeably tensed up, her hand frozen above the box of records, and she thought about her answer for a long time.

“I guess it’s not...not  _ that _ bad.” She replied finally. “There are certainly worse words out there.” Taking Prelude off the record player and replacing it with something else, she quietly reset the record player and sat back down with her book.

_ ‘Worse words,’ _ Wilson scoffed in his head, almost too afraid to even change his expression at the answer in fear of his sister asking him why he cared.  _ ‘And just where on earth can you find such a thing as that?’ _

“Anyway, you should turn in early tonight,” Willow suggested flatly. “You look awfully tired and I’m sure tomorrow will be just as busy if they don’t call for you tonight.”

“Right.” Wilson replied, equally as dull, as he rose from the couch. “My briefcase is by the door if you’d like to read the case notes I’ve pulled together for that murder.”

His twin nodded as though she barely registered his words, already reading that book again. “Alright. Goodnight, Wilson.”

“Goodnight, Willow.”

Wilson barely processed heading upstairs and changing out of his clothes. It was such a monotonous routine of his that the only thing that really registered to him was how utterly shitty he felt inside. Flopping down onto his bed, Wilson stared blankly up at the ceiling, a wave of emotion crashing over him and nearly compelling him to cry. How much longer was this going to last? How much longer was Wilson going to have to hide this part of himself from his sister, practically his lifelong best friend, and how much longer would he have to fear being scorned for coming out? Detective work generally kept Wilson’s male-attractedness in the back of his mind, and it was quite the effective distraction if he did say so himself. Hell, even though he sort of let himself go with Maxwell at that party--oh, that damned  _ party _ \--Wilson expected to some degree that he’d have his emotions more in check by now to match how he was supposed to be in the public eye.

“Fucking  _ hell _ .”

He rolled onto his side, the dim moonlight from his window crawling through the blinds and splaying out onto him. If nothing else, his feelings for Frederick and that lingering bit of attraction to Maxwell would dissipate with time. Feelings always did; infatuation in particular was known to thrive on the temporariness of itself. He seriously hoped Willow hadn’t noticed anything by now, knowing she was likely just as homophobic as their parents were and just never said anything about it. In the end, maybe it wasn’t actually such a big deal as he was chalking it up to be. If worse came to worse and he was outed, he could end it in a matter of moments with ease. Not a big deal. Anything to avoid the backlash that would certainly come with being outed as a gay man. No, really, it wasn’t a big deal at all.

...Or maybe it was. He didn’t care enough to figure that out anymore. There were greater things to worry about, so this was going to be a problem for the Wilson of tomorrow.


	9. Fun Times All Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 'working with a sibling is a never a pain in the ass, no sarcasm whatsoever!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaa sorry for taking so long on this one little chapter,,,, also sorry for halfassing the title name
> 
> more science sibs content and medical terms galore lie ahead   
> not in this chapter necessarily but coming to a chapter 10 near you
> 
> aaaanyway, love you guys

The morning began with the sound of someone slamming their leg into the side of Wilson’s dresser, followed by a string of curses so strong that it could make even the most blasphemous man would suck in his breath. Slowly, Wilson opened his eyes and saw a man was clutching his leg, bouncing on one foot. He nearly had a stroke out of pure shock but realized after a moment that it was just a familiar someone wearing some of his work clothes.

“Willow?” He asked, groggily sitting up. His sister stared back at him like a deer caught in headlights. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Oops. Accidentally stubbed my toe on my way out.” Willow chuckled, putting her sore foot down.  “I thought you said I was coming to the mortuary with you today? I was just so excited to come that i decided to prepare early.”

Wilson groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Ah, shit. We  _ are _ going there today, aren’t we. What time is it? We’ve still gotta drop by the agency and see if there’s any new paperwork to review, and there likely is.”

“Oh, joy. It was about six a.m. when I came upstairs.” Willow replied.

“Six!” Wilson laughed unsteadily, lifting himself out of bed. “Well, I’ve certainly slept in today, no thanks to you. Still doesn’t tell me why you’re wearing my clothing though.” He looked Willow up and down as he stretched his arms above his head.

“Oh, I figured people may take me a little more seriously if I look like you.” The female smiled triumphantly. “Besides, I like the movement men’s trousers allow.” She added, kicking up a leg to prove her point. “Boom! Less indecent than if I were wearing a skirt!”

Wilson sighed. “If you want pants, just tell me and I’ll get a pair tailored for you. You don’t have to keep stealing mine.”

“But we’re the same size, so wouldn’t it be more convenient this way?” Willow protested. Her brother turned her around and ushered her to the door.

“For you, yes, it would be. Now get out.” Wilson urged, “I have to get dressed as well and it’s far too goddamn early to be bickering with you.”

“But  _ Wilson _ \--” She whined.

“Shoo.” He closed the door in her face before she could protest any further. Wilson let out a sigh of relief when he heard a pair of indignant footsteps heading down the stairs and promptly dressed himself in his usual work clothes. Last night’s sleep had been a dreamless one, and lucky for him; the last thing Wilson needed was some asinine projection of the mind taking up his brainpower for today. He came down the stairs to find Willow seated impatiently by the door and a plate of still-warm toast on their kitchen table. God, how long had it been since Wilson had actually stopped to eat something before leaving for work?

“Go ahead, take as much as you’d like,” Willow said, “I’ve already eaten.”

“Thank you.” Wilson grabbed two pieces and his briefcase off the floor by the door. “Let’s go, then.”

The early morning air was chilly and the sky was still black as pitch without a star in sight. Wilson pulled from the pocket of his coat a portable torch and turned it on, illuminating the path in front of them that was littered with twigs and the occasional leaf or two.

“I don’t understand how you’re able to traverse to work in these conditions,” Willow complained, shivering. “It’s freezing cold!”

“Are you sure? It’s only about 15 degrees Celcius out.” Wilson responded. “Maybe you should have grabbed a heavier jacket.”

“Maybe so.” Small branches and leaves crunched under their feet as they walked, and the only other noises to be heard between the two from there were the sounds of the breeze and of Wilson crunching softly on his two pieces of toast. Upon departing from the forest, which took a good ten minutes or so, they saw that the streets of their town were illuminated by street lamps but otherwise almost entirely empty. Thin clouds of fog could be seen misting over the lights’ glass covers delicately like silk. Strange, Wilson thought; usually there’d at least be another person or two walking about at this hour.

“Is it always this eerily quiet in the morning, Wilson?” Willow asked, looking about her cautiously as they walked together.

“Not usually. But I suppose it can’t be any cause for alarm.” Her twin yawned. “The agency’s no more than thirty minutes from here, though I do find it a bit bothersome we can’t just hail a cab to take us.”

“Thirty minutes!” Willow groaned, shoving her hands into the pockets of her pants. “I don’t know how you can stand it!”

Wilson laughed. “Me neither, Willow. Me neither.”

  
  
  
  


When they finally arrived to the agency, the first person the twins bumped into happened to be none other than Frederick van Gieson himself.

“Ah! Good morning, Wilson!” He greeted, a mug of coffee in hand. He seemed just as chipper as always even though it was the literal ass crack of dawn. “And Willow, you’re just as lovely as I’ve remembered you to be!” He said, looking the female twin up and down in an unabashedly obvious way.

Willow frowned and shifted uneasily in place. “I’d appreciate you not making such remarks, you know.”

“It’s early, Fred. Leave her be.” Wilson put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “She’s here to help me with some things, so don’t distract us, alright?” Before his friend could respond, he led his sister back to his desk. She immediately shifted her expression from ‘comfortable’ to ‘outright furious’ and looked as though she was ready to slap somebody unconscious.

“That dickhead can get bent for all I care _. _ ” She growled, crossing her arms and slumping back against the wall.

“Willow, don’t be so hostile. He’s not  _ that _ bad of a guy, you know.” Wilson said as he sat down in his office chair. “I don’t get why he makes you so uncomfortable.”

Willow scoffed. “Dumbass. Maybe if you saw him from my point of view you’d understand.”

“I can’t even begin to do that if you won’t open up to me, you know.” Her brother replied coolly, turning his attention to what lay on his desk. Two new manila folders lay there, one labeled ‘Crime Scene Photos’ and the other ‘Interview Transcripts’. He picked up the one that said ‘Crime Scene Photos’ and opened it. “God damn,” He said, sucking in his breath, “Check these out, Wil. Someone must’ve photographed the scene after we left.” 

Willow moved over to look over her brother’s shoulder. “Yikes. That’s a lot of blood.” She remarked, pulling one out from the stack of images. It was an overhead view of Wickerbottom’s body in black-and-white, sprawled out on the floor of the library in the same position it had been found in. The blood on her dress had spread a little more and it was obvious from that angle that there was a long, narrow wound in her abdomen that looked like someone had sliced it open. The neck was surrounded by a pool of blood and her skin had developed a sickly white shade to it.

“Pallor mortis,” Wilson mused, looking over the photograph himself. “That abdominal wound looks nasty.”

“It’s almost like someone just cut her open and go.” Willow added. “Wouldn’t there be blood  _ everywhere _ if that were the case though?”

“That’s what I’m wondering, and yet we didn’t find bloodied clothing, or weapons, or anything.” Wilson picked up the next photograph, showing one of the bookshelves of the room. Blood was splattered all over it, the only exception being a portion of the shelf that was clean and vaguely human-shaped.

“What the  _ fuck _ .” The twins gasped. How had Wilson not noticed it the night of the murder? Maybe he’d just been too tired to register it.

“So someone definitely had to have been standing there when it happened, right? To commit the murder?” Willow asked, tracing her finger over the outline of the blood-free area. 

“It certainly looks like it.” Her brother nodded. “That makes the absence of incriminating evidence all the more curious.”

“Yeah. If supernatural shit were real, I’d say we have some sort of a ghost murderer on our hands.” Willow laughed and leaned back against the wall. “But of course, you’re too reasonable to believe in that, right?”

Wilson tensed in his seat. Something about the idea of that struck a chord with him somehow. But he couldn’t just give his sister the satisfaction of being right; it would be totally out of character for him from Willow’s point of view.

“Is something wrong?” Willow asked, putting a hand on her brother’s shoulder.

“Ah,” Wilson laughed casually. “Of course not. That’s just such a bullshit answer to give I can’t believe you really said it.”

His sister tossed her head back and laughed. “As I expected, you’re ever the skeptic. Though...you’ve got to admit, this doesn’t seem like a crime any normal human would be able to commit.”

“Yeah.”  Wilson put the photographs back into the folder. “But let’s not jump to any conclusions without sufficient evidence, got it?”

“Pbbt, of course. I know how these things work, Wilson.” Willow crossed her arms over her chest. An officer they didn’t recognize approached the twins with a stern look on his face and something folded in his hand.

“Detective Higgsbury.” The man said, getting the attention of both Wilson and Willow. He gave Willow a brief once-over in disapproval and turned to her male counterpart. “Or...Higgsburies? I didn’t realize it was ‘Bring Your Sibling to Work’ day, Wilson.”

“She’s helping me out with something. Leave her alone.” The male twin shut the file folder curtly and pushed it out of sight. “What’ve you got there?”

“Dunno what it is exactly,” The officer said, handing the item in his hand over to Wilson, “But it looks like a letter. A woman dropped by this morning at about four a.m. and said to leave it for you, so here it is.”

The twins looked at it curiously. It was a paper envelope sealed with a very fancy-looking wax stamp. The wax was a deep red-purple and Wilson could barely make out the indentation of a ‘C’ in the center of it.

“Ah.” The detective nodded. “I know who it’s from. Thank you, sir.”

The man tipped his hat at him and left.

“Who’s it from, Wilson?” Willow asked as her brother opened the envelope.

“Charlie. She’s Maxwell’s girlfriend.” He replied. “I wonder what she could possibly want from us to come by at such an odd hour.” After finally prying it open, Wilson pulled from the envelope a piece of parchment paper that had been neatly folded in half. Written upon the paper in neat cursive was as follows:

 

_ “Detective Higgsbury; _

 

_ Come by at nine sharp tonight. Maxwell and the girls have a little something prepared for you. You may bring Willow along if you so wish. My sister is in town and I’m sure they’ll get along just swell, they will talk while you sort out business with Max. But, do not dare tell Willow what exactly you’re there for. I’m sure you recall Maxy’s rule about not telling of your little ‘deal’ with him. This is applicable here as well; you must not tell anyone that you will be coming and you must not tell of the contents of this letter. Burn this at your earliest convenience and don’t dare be late. _

 

_ There will be consequences if you’re late. _

_ -Charlie” _

 

Wilson skimmed the paper and quickly folded it back before Willow could see its contents.

“Lemme read it now.” She made a grab for it and her brother quickly put it away.

“Sorry, but that’s a no. It’s, erm, private stuff.” Wilson insisted, holding the envelope tightly. Willow pouted.

“Oh, come off with that. Is it at all related to the case at hand?” She pried, making her brother shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, I suppose it might be in a way.”

“Then why hide it from me? I’m basically your assistant, not to mention the fact that we live under the same roof. Whatever secrets you’ve got are going to start coming out eventually.” She insisted, making a grab for the envelope. “Come on, let me have a peek.”

“No.” Wilson snatched it away.

“Yes.” His sister made a grab for it again.

“I said no.”

“I’m older! You should listen to  _ me _ , not the other way around.”

“First of all, no one ever bothered keeping track of who came out first. Second,  _ no _ !”

“But  _ Wilson _ \--”

“Willow,  _ no. _ ”

“Wilson,  _ yes _ .”

“Ugh! For the love of fuck, we’re not going to get anywhere fighting like we’re nine again.” Wilson huffed. “The answer is no and  _ that is final _ , like it or not. All you need to know is that we--yes, we, as in the two of us--are going to Maxwell Carter’s home tonight. He and I have some personal business to take care of.”

Willow crossed her arms. “Fine. I’d like to meet this Maxwell fellow anyhow. When do we leave for the morgue?”

Wilson checked the clock. 6:45. “Give it a few more hours and the results should be ready.”

“What?! Fuck that noise. Why not just go now?”

“Well, we can’t assist in the autopsy itself, so we’d have to just sit in there while it happens. That’s completely unsanitary, not to mention the fact that it absolutely reeks in there.” Wilson smiled smugly. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to have to sit there breathing in the smell of a corpse for a few hours, would you?”

His sister made a face. “God, no.” 

“Well, me neither. I guess that means we’re stuck here to review these papers till it’s time to go.”

Willow groaned. “Wilson?”

“Hm?”

“How the  _ hell _ can you withstand the office portion of this job?”

Wilson laughed. “I know, it’s boring. Don’t worry though, you’ll forget you’re not doing much of anything after a while. My advice is learn to get used to it.” He paused. “Actually, I’d like you to do one favor for me.” 

“Hm?” Willow perked up, her shoulders straightening. Her brother took the letter he’d been given and ripped it into several small pieces.

“Take these out to the incinerator and burn them until nothing remains.” He said, forking the pile over to Willow. Her eyes lit up immediately.

“Ooh,” She smiled, “With pleasure.”

And with that, she headed off for the incinerator. Wilson smiled a satisfied half-smile. At least he could keep her entertained for a while.


	10. Cadaver Endeavors and Near Mental Breakdowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 'working with a sibling is a never a pain in the ass, no sarcasm whatsoever!', featuring everyone's two favorite things: dead bodies and Real Nervous Breakdown Hours!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gets uhhh….kinda graphic. warning for gruesome depictions of dead bodies and autopsy-related procedures :,D
> 
> thank you all for your patience as I write this fic! I love you all as always :D <3

The mortuary was a tall brick building with a black placard in the front stating the name of the establishment. Wilson had been there a couple of times to pick up death certificates and autopsy reports and all sorts of other medical paperworks so wordy and long it made his eyes hurt, but it was probably only the second time he’d ever brought Willow along. The last time had been when their mother passed away, and that felt like ages ago already .  The Higgsbury twins walked up the staircase of the building, the bustling noises of the streets behind them fading as they opened and closed the glass door leading inside. The mortuary itself was cold inside, quiet and smelled strongly of disinfecting agents.

Immediately upon entering they saw a meek-looking secretary seated at the front counter. She looked up at them over a pair of thin black-rimmed glasses, her eyebrows raised, then motioned for them to come forward.

“Good morning, Detective...s? I was only told there’d be one of you coming today.” The woman said.

“She’s my partner. She’s got permission to be here.” Wilson insisted.

“Ah, alright then.” The woman took from a small drawer in her desk a key. She then handed it to the twins and pointed to an unmarked door to the right of them. “Back there. The medical examiners are expecting you both.”

“Thank you very much.” Wilson twirled the key around his finger, unlocked the door, and stepped over the threshold with his twin in tow. The hallway it lead to was a stark white, the smell of antiseptics now stronger than ever. There was also another stench woven into the air, that of deceased human flesh. It was a truly repulsive smell, strong like an animal’s carcass that had been left in the sun, and Wilson could see from the look on his sister’s face that she definitely wasn’t a fan.

“Christ, that’s  _ abhorrent. _ ” She groaned, pinching her nose shut. “Where do we go from here?”

“Usually there’s an assistant who brings me to the right room, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s out here.” Wilson snickered at his sister’s reaction to the smell of death. “Someone looks like she’s having fun!”

“Shut up, dumbass. God, you’ve barely flinched since coming in here. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you  _ enjoyed _ being in a mortuary, you sick fuck.” Willow moaned. “Ugh, I think I might get sick myself, actually…”

“Pull it together and act professional. I’d like to think I’m a bit more accustomed to the smell of a cadaver than you are, that’s all.” The detective spotted a frazzled-looking man step out of one of the rooms and look around the hallway. “Oh, I think there’s someone now. Don’t make a fool of yourself or of me, got it?”

“Yep. Sure. Can’t guarantee I won’t vomit all over your jacket, though.” Willow mumbled, clutching her stomach. Wilson waved the man over and he hurriedly approached, a clipboard in his shaking hands that threatened to clatter to the floor at any moment. He had a surgical mask pulled down to expose his mouth and black rectangular glasses with bloody fingerprints on the middle. His gloves and apron were bloody too; this man was likely a mortuary assistant or a medical examiner-in-training.

“G-good morning. I assume you’re Detective Higgsbury.” The man greeted and looked over at Willow. “Oh, dear. Are you alright, ma’am?”

Willow breathed in deeply through her mouth and tried to straighten out. “Y-yessir! Nothing’s wrong over here!”

The morgue assistant looked over at Wilson with a concerned face.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. She’s with me.” The detective assured him, putting an arm around his sister’s shoulders to support her. “So how goes it?”

“Well,” The man, probably in his twenties with freckles dotted all about his face and a mop of curly red hair, nervously pushed his glasses up his nose with trembling fingertips. His anxious brown eyes darted back and forth between the twins. “We’re really not sure. The cause of death was blood loss, for sure, but there’s also some evidence of blunt force trauma to the head and back as if she were pushed over premortem. Erm, but I’m sure you’re not here for an oral report of what happened, are you?”

The twins exchanged a look.

“Nope.” Willow coughed, again trying to keep her composure. “We’re here to see the real thing.”

“Of course you are,” The assistant said with a shaky laugh, “Right this way.”

****

The twins were ordered to strip themselves of their coats and hats in exchange for plastic gloves, face masks and aprons. Wilson was used to this procedure by now; Willow was not.

“Eugh, these masks make my nose itch. What are they, recycled flour sacks?” She complained. “And these gloves are too tight!”

“Quit your bitching. It’s part of this job whether you like it or not.” Her brother meanwhile had already put his personal protective gear on and was inspecting himself in a mirror. “I’ll admit I feel pretty good like this, like I’m a surgeon or something.” He laughed. “Hey, maybe I should’ve done that for a career path instead. Probably would have cost the family a fortune, but  _ damn _ would it have been worth it!”

“Ugh. Alright, Mr. Ego, whatever you say.” The plastic apron around her waist crinkled as Willow uncomfortably adjusted her mask. “Why do we have to wear this stuff anyway?!”

“It’s part of the safety protocol. The goal is to keep any and all fluids from a corpse from getting on or in your body, and vice versa.” Willow could see that Wilson was smiling smugly even though he wore a face mask. “Wouldn’t want to accidentally ingest a dead person’s  _ blood _ , now, would we?”

“Eww, don’t even make me think about that!” She groaned, punching her brother in the arm. “Wilson!” Her brother cackled, doubling over and clutching his stomach. From behind them both, a medical examiner pulled back the cloth curtain separating them from the autopsy room itself. This man was a bit more tired-looking than the other guy and looked over at the twins disapprovingly. Pinned to the lapel of his white lab coat was a tag that read “Thomas Proctor, M.D.”, the ‘M.D.’ bit likely meaning that he was a medical examiner rather than a mere assistant.

“Are you done yet?” Tom asked, an irritated edge to his voice. The Higgsburies quickly pulled themselves together and Wilson nodded.

“Yes, we are. My apologies.” He laughed, wiping a tear from his eye with a gloved finger. Willow harrumphed and straightened her apron out.

“Then, come back here.” The medical examiner held the curtain open with a flat expression, “We’ve had quite a hard time figuring out the specifics of just how this woman died. Perhaps the two of you can offer us some insight on what happened.”

He led the twins into the room. It was large and almost completely barren save for one corner of the room. A counter with sinks dotted in every so often wrapped around the perimeter of the area. The floor was a red brick with drains in it, and in one corner there was a group of three men surrounding a long metal cart. Wilson could see the body’s feet at the end and had to reassure himself that this would all be over before he knew it. A metal scale suspended from the ceiling held some bloody, fleshy mass in it and a fourth man was taking measurements off of it. Willow winced very subtle and her brother reached over to squeeze her hand.

He knew that what they’d be seeing here wasn’t going to be pretty.

“So, as I’m sure our assistant Silas told you earlier, the cause of death was determined to be exsanguination, or excessive blood loss, from a slashed abdominal aorta, as well as a slashed throat that nearly decapitated the victim.” The medical examiner began, leading the detectives to the table. The red-headed man from earlier gave them a nervous wave. Wilson nodded at him in acknowledgement, mentally preparing himself for what he knew would be a gruesome sight. 

Gruesome it most certainly was. Unclothed, cut open, and bloodied, Wickerbottom’s body looked less like a person at this point and more like an excessively detailed medical training dummy .  Per autopsy protocol, the body had been cut open from the chest and down the stomach in a Y shape, but there was also the extremely obvious gauges in the abdomen and throat that Wilson swore had looked smaller at the party.

“The cadaver arrived fully clothed in a party dress and we had to remove maybe about three layers’ worth of fabric to get to the wounds themselves. The corpse hadn’t even the chance to pallor fully by the time she’d been found by other crime scene investigators, so given the information your coworkers passed onto me I assume you must have found her almost immediately after death. There is also a possibility that she was very close to death, though not quite there, when she was found, and frankly I’m not sure which idea is worse to consider.”

Willow drew in a sharp breath.

“I can’t disagree with that.” Wilson recalled being able to see freshly oxygenated blood still seeping across the fabric of the dress when he’d found her dead in Woodie’s library. The idea that she’d still been alive, even if she was just barely grasping onto the last bit of her life, when he and Woodie and the other two found her made him feel sick inside.

“S-so!” Silas piped up from across the metal cart. “We’re mostly done with our inspection at this point, a-and, uh...there are a few things about this that look more than a little fishy to me here, detective. Ah, detective _ s _ ?”

“Mhm.” Wilson thought for a moment. “You say the abdominal aorta was slashed.”

“Yes!” Silas pointed out a mess of flesh in the middle of the abdomen. It looked as though it had been swiftly cut in two with a sharp blade of some sort, as did what remained of the surrounding organs. “So, as I’m sure you’re aware, this vein is extremely important in transfer of the blood about the body. It’s also located pretty far inside the abdominal cavity.” The assistant stuttered and pushed his glasses up again, getting blood on the piece bridging his nose. “If someone were to cut that from the outside, while the victim was wearing what she was at the time, I’d suppose that whoever did this was pretty strong.”

“Ah. Yes, it does appear that way, doesn’t it.” Wilson remarked, moving the slashed artery to get a better look at it through the bloody mass of flesh. Clean cut, like something from a butcher’s shop. How disgusting. “And you say you had to remove three layers of clothing to get to  _ this _ .”

“Four, actually, counting the undershirt she had on.” Silas added. Willow whistled.

“So four layers of clothes are on the body, and I assume at least one of those was a corset, yes? Those aren’t exactly thin or easy to slice through.” She remarked and looked over at her brother. “What exactly do you suppose we’re dealing with here, Wilson?”

The room was silent for an uncomfortably long time.

“God, Willow, I’ve no idea who it could be, especially given the circumstances Wickerbottom was found in. But, I do know one thing. No ordinary person would put this much effort into offing another person, especially if they’re nothing more than an ordinary librarian.” The detective answered, looking up from the body to meet his sister’s eyes. “Willow, I think it’s safe to say we’re dealing with a monster here.”

“A m-m-monster?” Silas shrieked and cowered behind Tom, who sighed and immediately pulled the other man out from behind him.

“Silas, calm down. He doesn’t mean a  _ real _ monster, right, Mr. Higgsbury?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. The male detective laughed.

“Oh, of course not.” He said, though he had to admit it felt like he was lying through his teeth. Truthfully? He had  _ no _ idea what to make of this. All those layers of clothing on and she still wound up nearly cut in half. It seemed completely impossible, and yet it had happened. “I just meant whoever did this is clearly some sort of unstable. After all, no ordinarily sane person would go this far out of their way to end an innocent woman’s life.”

Wilson looked over the body again. The ribs had been removed and were placed on a counter nearby along with some other tools, giving the medical examiners easy access to Wickerbottom’s vitals. The lungs were withered and blackened; smoker’s lungs, without a doubt. The heart was, strangely, absent from the body and the detective figured that was what he’d seen on the scale coming in. It was part of autopsy protocol to weigh most of the internal organs, after all. “So tell me more about this woman. Did she have any pre-existing medical conditions we should know about?”

“Well, for one thing, her blood pressure was shit if I may be so vulgar.” The man at the scale said, inspecting the organ resting inside the metal scale. “The average human heart should weigh around 300 or so grams. This woman’s is nearly 600. She wasn’t that big a person, either, which…I have to wonder what the hell kind of life she was living to make it get that big.”

“Yikes. That’s not good,” Willow remarked, sucking in her teeth. “Maybe she was under some form of stress. I remember Mummy used to be stressed out all the time, and her doctor complained about her blood pressure being through the roof on her last few visits before she died.”

“Ah, man. I remember that.” Wilson sighed. Poor Mum. “Anything else?”

“She was practically blind.” Silas piped up, taking a bloodied torch off the counter and turning it on. “It may not be  _ super _ relevant to the case, but I think it’s worth checking out.” He opened one of Wickerbottom’s eyes and shined the light directly into it. The iris was a green-grey and the light of the torch gave the pupil a sickly white sheen to it, murky like the deep waters of a pond. “Boom. Check it out; cataracts. It’s the worst case of them I’ve ever seen, too.” He switched eyes. The other wasn’t as murky and clouded as the first, but it was still clearly quite bad. The Higgsbury twins both wondered how the hell a person could see with eyes fogged up that badly.

“Huh.” Wilson pursed his lips. A librarian with cataracts? That wasn’t something you heard of every day. “She didn’t use any sort of mobility device and as far as I recall she wasn’t wearing glasses when we found her, so how did she get around without seeing? And more importantly, how could she do her job as a librarian?”

“With cataracts like these, glasses would do approximately jackshit to improve your vision.” Tom mused. “It’s possible she used braille to read, but of course, I’m only speculating. At any rate, I find it astounding that she was able to get around at all with her vision all fogged up like that.”

“Yeah. How weird . ” Willow trailed off and her brother could see she was getting deep in a train of thought.

“There’s one more thing we’d like to show you both, and then we’ll let you go.” Calmly, the straight-faced medical examiner turned the body over, exposing the left shoulder of the cadaver. “The paperwork necessary for your office should be ready soon. Until then, have a look at this.” The man pointed out a strange black marking on Wickerbottom’s shoulder, one that looked like a cursive ‘S’.

“A tattoo.” Wilson deadpanned. Nothing looked too suspicious about that, although it was definitely unusual to think a woman like Wickerbottom would want a tattoo of any sort.

“Yes, but...I don’t know. Something feels off about it, don’t you think?” Silas stammered and pushed his glasses up yet again. “Not that many tattoo parlors serve women around here, and don’t you find it a bit odd that it’s not faded in the least bit? It almost looks like she got it recently, except there’s no swollen or damaged tissue around the tattoo itself to prove that true.”

“That’s a good point.” Wilson said, holding out a gloved hand and tracing his fingertips over the tattoo. How strange, he thought. Every tattoo he’d ever touched--though, to be fair, that number was quite small--had felt at least a little bit three-dimensional. This mark, however, felt almost as though it was part of the skin itself. “Thank you for pointing that out.”

“Of course.” Silas returned with a nervous laugh. Tom moved the body back to its original position.

“So,” The medical examiner said, “I think that will be all for the medical examination. Silas, do me a favor. Go help them take their PPE off and get them the paperwork from the office they need.” Tom commanded, walking over to the scale and removing the bloodied heart from it. “I’ll handle the cleanup process from here.”

“Thank you, Tom.” The mortuary assistant smiled. “Alright, detectives, right this way.”

****

“Willow, are you alright? You’ve been awfully silent for a while now.” Wilson asked, stripping the bloodied latex gloves off his hands. His face mask had already been thrown away and the apron was properly disposed of as well. Willow, across the closed-off part of the autopsy room from him, stared blankly at the floor for a moment before formulating a response.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. My head’s just kind of in the clouds, you know?” She sounded flat, meek even. Her brother discarded his gloves in the trash and gave his twin a worried look.

“Well, I can tell that much.” Wilson put his jacket back on and rooted around in his pockets until he found a small coin and pulled it out. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Willow froze. “You sound just like dad when you say that, you know.”

Her brother chuckled and tossed the penny at her. “And is that supposed to be a bad thing?”

Willow didn’t reply.

“Detectives, here’s your papers!” Silas popped his head in the doorway and chirped. “I’ve organized everything into a file folder for your convenience.” He handed Wilson a manila folder with a stack of papers inside, a nervous smile on his face.

“Thank you very much.” Wilson replied with a terse smile, thumbing through the stack of paper. He was going to have to review  _ all of this  _ back at the office! Oh, the joy  _ that _ thought brought him! “Mr. Silas, I appreciate your help today a great deal, and Willow appreciates it as well.” The morgue assistant looked thrilled.

“Well, thank you both!” He smiled, removing his own dirtied gloves, chucking them in the wastebasket, and looking about the counter by the door. “Erm, on an unrelated note, have either of you seen a wedding band laying around here anywhere?” Silas asked, fidgeting with his thumbs. “It’s silver with a diamond in the middle and nobody’s been able to find it for the past few days.”

The twins exchanged a look.

“Sorry, I haven’t seen anything of the sort.” Wilson replied.

“Ditto.” His sister agreed. Silas sighed.

“Oh, I see. Sorry for bothering you, then.” He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Best of luck in solving this case! Lord knows you’ll need it.”

“Thank you, my good man.” Wilson gave Silas a smile. “Good luck finding that wedding band. Lord knows  _ you’ll _ need it.”

Silas laughed. “Oh, be gone with you!”

Tom poked his head through the curtain, an irritated expression on his face. “Are the lot of you done? Silas, we’ve another autopsy to carry out and this one may take longer than the last.”

The mortuary assistant blanched. “Ack! Sorry, I’ll be right there!” He called, grabbing a clean set of latex gloves and nearly knocking the box to the floor in the process. “Have a wonderful afternoon, detectives!” He waved, an embarrassed blush on his freckled face. The Higgsbury twins laughed and left the room.

“Willow,” As soon as they stepped out of the room, Wilson turned to his sister. “You look really, and I mean  _ really _ out of it. Shall I hail a cab and send you home?”

Willow shook her head no insistently. “God no, I just...first experience seeing a body that badly mutilated.” She sighed. Her eyes were blank and glassed over, like her soul was there but her mind was still far away somewhere. “It’s just. Bad. Everything feels bad. But I’m gonna be fine, I promise.”

“I’ll admit something myself. I was unnerved at the sight of that body too.” Her brother reassured. “But then again, who wouldn’t be?”

“On second thought, maybe I might go home.” Willow winced and Wilson noticed her fists were balled at her sides so tightly that her knuckles were paper white. “I’m sorry, Wilson, I’m really trying to hold out for the day but I’m really struggling--”

“Shh, shh. Hey, Willow, calm down.” The male detective pulled his sister into a hug. “It’s okay. I’m right here, it’s okay.” Willow hiccuped softly, biting back tears and trying  _ desperately _ not to lose her shit entirely when she’d worked so hard all day to make herself look good, look smart and put together like a real detective worthy of her position, but--dammit,  _ this _ is why she never joined her brother at work anymore. 

“Willow, listen to me. Do you hear me?” Wilson whispered and his sister nodded. “You can go home. I’ll go back to work and head over to Maxwell’s, and you can stay home and just calm down, okay? I understand, seeing that body must have made you very upset. Maybe that stray cat you like so much will come by the house and you can play with her.” 

“G-goddammit, Wilson,” Willow sniffled, “Don’t talk to me like I’m a little kid! I swear I’ll be fine, so let me go already, dumbass!”

“But you don’t seem all that fine to me.” Her brother deadpanned.

“...alright, touche.”

“So can you make it through the rest of the day or not?” Wilson asked pointedly. Willow paused in thought for a moment.

“Probably. I think so.” She replied. “But I’d rather we just get a cab back to the office if that’s alright.”

“Fine. I’m feeling a bit too lazy to walk several blocks back anyway.” The male detective laughed halfheartedly. “...you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, jackass. I wouldn’t lie to you, would I?” Willow crossed her arms.

“Yes, yes you would. Figured I’d ask anyway.” Her brother felt around in his pockets and cursed. “Come  _ on! _ ”

“What is it?”

“I left my wallet in the autopsy room.” Wilson sighed. “Here, go take the key back to that woman at the front and I’ll be out in just a moment.” He handed the key they’d been given earlier to his sister.

“Well, if you so insist, but you’ll be the one paying the cab fare since you’re holding us up!” Willow smirked, giggling as she opened the door to the lobby.

“What! No the hell I won’t!” Wilson returned indignantly.

“Yes the hell you  _ will _ !”

“No!”

“ _ Yes _ !”

Before Wilson could respond, his sister slammed the door shut in his face with the widest grin she’d worn all day. He sighed but couldn’t help the amused half-smile that crept up the left side of his face again.

“What an idiot.” He muttered to himself, shaking his head, and walked back down the hallway to where he thought the right room was. He was about to poke his head in when he overheard Silas and Tom talking to each other, their voices hushed but still barely audible to the detective.

“Tom, I still can’t find the ring!” Silas whined. “What if I  _ can’t _ find it? Will we still be able to have the wedding in June, or will we have to cancel?”

Tom sighed. “Of course we can have the wedding, love. But I would very much appreciate it if you did manage to relocate it and start wearing it again.”

Wilson’s breath caught in his throat. Tom just called his male coworker ‘love’, and Silas mentioned a wedding. Were the two of them…?

Silas winced. “I’m  _ trying _ , Tom, I really am and you know that--”

The redheaded assistant was cut off. Cautiously, Wilson peeked around the doorway. The medical examiner had Silas’ chin tipped upward and had his lips pressed against the redhead’s. They were actually, genuinely kissing, mouth-to-mouth like it was a routine thing for the two of them to do. The detective immediately hid back behind the doorway, beginning to shake and his systems threatening to break into a cold sweat. He wasn’t imagining things just then, was he?

“Si, of course I know you’re trying.” Tom replied. They must have pulled apart by now. “I love you. Be calm; we’ll find that ring one way or another, alright?”

Silas chuckled, clearly sounding much happier than before. “Alright, love. Let’s get this autopsy over with already. I’ve not eaten since, like, four a.m. and am in dire need of a lunch break right about now.”

They kissed again, evident from the sound that Wilson heard next. ‘No way in hell did I just witness that,’ The detective thought, his heart pounding against his sternum almost painfully. Tom and Silas, from the looks of it, were two men in love, holding down jobs, about to be  _ married _ by the sound of it and seemingly very happy with being together. Tom even said he  _ loved _ him. It seemed in Wilson’s mind up until that moment that such a scenario would be entirely impossible, and yet! Something inside Wilson slid around, or clicked into place, or otherwise did  _ something _ he couldn’t quite put a finger on, but he definitely felt different somehow and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

“Oh, no,” Tom mumbled, followed by the sound of him moving. “What’s this?”

“Hm?” Silas asked, followed by the sound of the curtain sliding open.

“That detective left his wallet here.” The medical examiner said. “Damn! How are we gonna get this back to him?”

Wilson decided not to sit around and listen anymore, knocking on the doorframe hard as if he’d just walked up. Time to act like he hadn’t heard or seen anything, and just came back for his wallet a second ago.

“Hello, chaps!” He put on a fake smile and poked his head around the doorway, hoping that he didn’t look as shocked as he felt. “Hope I’m not bothering you both, but it appears I’ve left something back here.”

“Ah, there you are.” Tom handed the detective his leather wallet, an extremely subtle but present smile on his lips. “Here you go. I assume this is what you meant?”

“Yes! Thank you both so much.” Wilson gave them a brief nod. “Well, goodbye!” He said before either man could reply and left without another word. Tom and Silas stared for a moment at the door blankly before the medical examiner turned to look at his lover.

“Si, dear, what’s the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Tom remarked at the visibly uneasy expression on the morgue assistant’s face.

“Oh,” Silas shook his head as if to knock loose the negative thoughts accumulating within. “It’s nothing. Just a few paranoid thoughts, that’s all.” He pursed his lips. “You don’t suppose he... _ saw _ us, did you?”

Tom paused. “No,” He said after perhaps a second too long of silence, “No, I don’t think so.”


	11. A Pleasant Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siblings argue. Maxwell's on some shady shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ack!! sorry for the short chapter everyone, and for the long wait between updates as well ( ._.` ;)
> 
> also, fun fact: the creations of silas & tom in the last chapter was a totally spontaneous decision on my part....now they're actual fully-fleshed-out ocs of mine. i'm really glad everyone received them as well as they did!
> 
> love you guys<3 next update will be better, I promise~

Wilson and Willow barely spoke on their way back to the detective agency. He thumbed silently through the file folder in his lap; she stared out the window, a far-off expression on her face. Wilson could tell his sister was still shaken up from seeing the body, and who could blame her, but she should have at least thought to prepare herself a bit more for this examination. To her credit, she didn’t break down in hysterics like any other normal person might have done, but still.

“Hey Wilson?”

The detective looked across the cab at his sister. “Hm?”

Willow stayed quiet for a bit longer before speaking again. “Nevermind. Forgot what I was going to say.”

“Oh.”

The tension in the cab was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and Wilson finally decided he’d had enough of the silence. “You know what?” He asked, sitting up in his seat and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “This case is all sorts of fucked up.”

“I don’t disagree.” Willow returned, her eyes still glued to the window.

“I mean, seriously. We’re supposed to be the ones in charge of solving this woman’s murder, but everything we’ve uncovered so far has only lead to more questions and more paperwork I can’t make any sort of sense from!” The detective huffed, throwing himself against the backrest of his seat. “Ugh. What are your thoughts, Willow?”

“Not sure.” Replied Willow, ever the talkative one.

Wilson huffed. “Wow! Thanks for that.”

“Hey, don’t be such an ass.” Willow glared pointedly at him from across the cab, “I’m no more or less confused about this mess than you are. In fact, I almost have the mind to say there’s nothing we can do to solve this case, and we have no choice but to let it go cold.” She stared icily at him. “But of course, you won’t let that happen, now, will you.”

“Of course not!” Wilson  _ hated _ cases going cold more than anything in this world. To him, they were the product of lazy cops who didn’t know what they were doing when it came to crime scene analysis and consequently messed up the case for everyone involved. Jack the Ripper’s murders especially boiled his blood; ‘Oh, for the love of--! If everyone had kept a closer eye on their surroundings, nothing would have slipped under their radar!’ he’d said upon finishing a novel on the subject some years ago. 

“To let that happen would be an insult to my reputation as a detective.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Look, all I’m saying is this may be too hard to solve even for the two of us. 

“What are you implying?” Her brother leered at her.

“I’m not implying anything, but I am saying I can already tell you’ll drive yourself mad trying to solve this and I want you to just slow down while you’re ahead.” Willow folded her arms across her chest. “Look, you saw the body just like I did. Those wounds were practically inhuman. At this point in time, I don’t know if we have the means of finding someone capable of committing the murder and disposing of the evidence within the time span of less than a minute. That’s craziness.” 

Wilson huffed. She had a point. Unfortunately, however, he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of being right, and thus kept his mouth shut.

“Stubborn idiot.” Willow mumbled, realising after a bit of silence that she wasn’t going to get through to him. She turned her eyes back out the window, watching the buildings and the people roll by, until finally they pulled to a stop.

“We’re here.” The cab driver announced, pulling up on the curb. “Pay and get out.”

 

* * *

 

Nearly ten hours later, Wilson was on his third coffee and was practically worn to the bone. Papers littered the table before himself and Willow, whom he just couldn’t seem to stop bickering with, and their mugs of coffee sat dangerously close to the edge. They’d been going through papers, writing notes and discussing things and bitching back and forth between themselves nearly the entire day. The whole workplace was aware of their antics, too, to make matters more annoying. Willow’s crude, bold scribbles in red versus Wilson’s neater markings in blue covered the papers before them in such a way that one would hardly notice the typewriter text on them at first.

The topic of their latest spat: a document Wilson was trying to type up compiling all the relevant data from the case so far. Willow watched over her brother’s shoulder and casually pointed out any mistakes he’d made, at which point he’d become irritated and snap at her for breaking his concentration. A coworker would occasionally walk by and just stare at the two for a moment, unsure of whether to break up their fighting or to simply leave them be.

“Willow, if you shake this table and make me mess up one more  _ god _ damn time I swear I’m gonna punch you.” Wilson threatened, fingers flying across the typewriter in front of him. His sister let the words sink in for a bit, then reached across the table to grab her coffee. Her abdomen pressed a little too hard against the side of the table, and pulling back from it caused the surface to jolt ever so slightly. The force was enough to shake the typewriter just enough for Wilson’s pointer finger to accidentally hit the ‘Y’ key instead of the ‘T’.

“ _ Willow _ !” The detective groaned, pressing his hands to the bridge of his nose. “What did I just say?!”

“Oh, am I not allowed to get coffee anymore?” Willow snapped, resting her free hand on her hip.

“That is so far from the problem here, you git!” Wilson buried his face in my hands. “For fuck’s sake. How long have we been at this for?”

Willow’s eyes flickered over to the clock. “About an hour.”

“Christ!” The detective cursed, “An hour on one report! One!” He pointed a finger in his sister’s face. “I’ve almost the mind to say you’d be helping me more if you buggered off somewhere else!”

“You take that back!” Willow retorted, slamming her mug on the table. “May I remind you that I’ve done a great deal of helping over the course of the day!”

“Yes, yes; helping me lose what remain of my brain cells!” Wilson laughed callously, earning him a furious glare from Willow. Behind them, someone was laughing, and the twins turned to see Frederick doubled over cackling against the wall. 

“You two are really something else, you know!” He hollered between laughs. “But calm it down or you’ll be written up!”

“Yep, sure, alright.” Wilson got up from his chair. “You know what. Willow, you wrap this damn thing up. I need another mug or I’ll be asleep well before we can hit Maxwell’s place.” The mention of that man was enough to send him into a state of excitement. Part of him had been unable to stop wondering what he’d wanted all day, and the idea of perhaps being able to see Abigail--or, perhaps, something as peculiar--again was thrilling. Grabbing his own mug off the table, he kicked his chair back under his desk and lumbered off to the break room. Frederick followed closely behind, still laughing like a fool and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Wilson! Are the two of you always going at it like that?” He asked, casually leaning against the wall as Wilson refilled the mug in his hand.

“Most of the time, no.” The detective responded. “I’d say we get along quite nicely, in fact. Today’s just been a hell of a day.”

“Oh, I can tell. The whole office can. Ha!” Fred laughed and gave his friend a casual  _ thwap _ on the shoulder. “Ah, Willow is such a charmer! You really should bring her by more often!”

Wilson winced. “Fred, I really don’t think she likes being talked about that way. Leave her alone, it kind of weirds both of us out.”

“Eh. She’ll come around to it soon, I’m sure.” Frederick winked and despite the uncomfortableness of the situation, Wilson found himself flustered by the gesture. The best way to drown it out, he decided, would be with a nice, hot mouthful of bean juice. “So I heard you say something about going to see that Maxwell guy?”

“Mmhm.” The detective replied, more focused on the mug in his hands than his conversational partner.

“Huh. Why, and for that matter why so late at night?”

“None of your business.” Wilson shot back. Come to think of it, why  _ did _ Maxwell want him at such a late hour? It wasn’t like the detective planned to be asleep anytime soon, but still. It bothered him in a way he couldn’t quite put words to.

Fred sucked in his teeth. “Well damn, alright then.” He chuckled. “You have fun with that. I’ve got my own work to get back to doing, so…” He gave his friend a quick two-finger salute and dipped. “I’ll be seeing you!”

“Yep.” Wilson watched him leave, a tired smile on his face. Damn it if Fred wasn’t just what he needed to pull him out of his bad mood just then. It was certainly weird, having a mild infatuation on the weird friend crushing on his sister, but sometimes it wasn’t all that bad. Willow poked her head around the doorway.

“Hey, nerd.” She stepped in and Wilson saw she was holding a stapled packet of papers. “I finished that report thingie. Help me get it turned in, will you?”

Wilson set his mug down on the table. “Fine.”

“Thanks.” His sister smiled, then paused. “And Wilson?”

“Hm?”

“I, uh…” Willow fidgeted. “Sorry for making you mess up that report. Multiple times.” She said, her cheeks turning a few shades of embarrassed red. She was bad at apologizing, comically so, and Wilson couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re a few shades short of looking like a cherry, Wil.” He teased. This was enough to warrant him a swift kick in the shin. “Oww, you ass, I forgive you already! Chill!” Wilson yelped, and the two burst into laughter. “I hate you so much, you know that?”

Willow snickered. “I hate you even more, you idiot. Now help me get these papers filed. If I have to analyze one more document today, I’ll…” 

  
  


* * *

 

 

“So, Maxwell.”

Dimly lit by a fireplace and a few old-fashioned candles, Maxwell’s study was, to say the least, an eccentric place. Books were everywhere, on shelves and stacked on tables and a few were even placed in piles on the floor. When the twins arrived at the residence, they were immediately greeted by Charlie and told to keep it down as the girls were asleep upstairs. Willow was, of course, clueless as to why they were actually there and immediately made conversation with Charlie and Maxwell. The magician, however, was disinterested in her and instead directed his attention on Wilson. A little while and some brief chatter later, here they were, seated across from each other in the study.

“Please, you may call me Max if you wish.” The magician replied, courteous and smooth-talking as ever. A cigar hung from the corner of his mouth and every so often he took a puff, the lit end of it glowing softly. In his lap was a large, black book, and he leafed through the pages slowly but intently as though there was something specific he was searching for. “No reason for formalities at this point.”

“Of course, Max.” The informality of the nickname made Wilson feel warm inside, like he’d known this man for years. He had to admit, as intimidated as he was the last time they’d met, there was no animosity between them now. It was odd. Not in a bad way, just generally so. Besides, he was eager now. He remembered seeing Abigail like it was yesterday and there was a burning in him now to witness something like that again. He wanted--no, he  _ needed _ to know more about her. In a way, he felt like it was almost part of his job as a detective to do so. “It was a long day, to say the least, so I’m quite grateful to be out of the office.”

“That’s nice.” Maxwell smiled softly and the detective’s heart skipped a beat. Fuck, there went that pesky infatuation again. “I’m grateful for you coming by, though I have to admit it’s quite the obscure hour to do so.”

This confused Wilson. Didn’t Maxwell know about that letter? “What do you mean? You and Charlie asked me to come, right?”

The magician stared blankly at him. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

The awkward silence that followed made Wilson more uncomfortable than anything he thought he’d ever experienced. “But then what…”  He then recalled the fact that the letter had Charlie’s signature, and that she specifically was the one to deliver it. “Oh. Well...” Wilson told the other man about the letter and retold its contents as best as he could. Maxwell’s face progressively shifted from curious to embarrassed.

“Oh, god. Wilson I’m so sorry.” He slumped into the chair. “Damn it, Charlie! She should have at least told me before... _ god _ . I’m going to have a talk with her later about this.”

Wilson sucked in his teeth. So Charlie gave that to him without Maxwell’s knowledge? But why? It would sort of explain the obscure time and why it had her signature on it.

“Yeah, do that. Anyway, I guess it’s fine.” He’d brush it under the rug for now. “I’m grateful you let Willow and I in anyways.

“Of course. I was under the impression you were here with updates on...well. You know.” There was a pause, like he didn’t want to say what exactly it was he meant. “Wendy knows. She’s devastated.”

“Oh dear.” Wilson winced. He couldn’t imagine being that poor child and having to receive the news of Wickerbottom’s death. “I assume she didn’t take it well.”

“Of course not.” Maxwell replied. “And to be honest, it surprised me. She treats death like it’s no big deal, talking about it and specifically Abigail’s passing like she’s fine with it, but when someone she loves actually dies...well. It’s a different story then.” He sighed. “We’re currently looking after Wickerbottom’s youngest grandson now, and they get along swell. I do hope that his presence will be of some comfort to her.”

“I see.” Wilson shifted in the chair. “So, Max. What’s that book you’ve got there?”

There was a pause as Maxwell formulated the response. “This, Wilson, is the part where everything spoken between us stays between us. Do you understand?”

Excitement was nearly driving the detective mad at this point. “Yes, yes of course.” 

_ ‘Keep your cool, Wilson’  _  He had to remind himself.  _ ‘Keep your cool.’ _

“Good.” The magician smiled again. “This, Wilson, is called the  _ Codex Umbra _ . Do you speak Latin?”

“Erm, a little bit. Been a long while since I’ve had to use any.”

“Ah, so you understand what the title means, then?” Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “‘Shadow Book’. The subject matter is true to the name. It deals with matters ranging from spirits--like Abigail--to things a little bit more sinister.” The room became noticeably colder as he said that and Wilson shuddered.

“Sinister in what way?” He asked, glancing about the room. Something wasn’t right here in the sort of way that made his blood run cold. He saw a number of things; stacks of books on anatomy, law, and other such subjects; the shelves on which they rested; a table in the corner. He didn’t, however, see the thing that was causing him alarm.

Well, he did. Wilson just didn’t know what it was yet.

“You’re a curious one.” Maxwell remarked, then chuckled lightly. “What else to expect from a detective?” He suddenly leaned forward in his chair. “Would you like me to show you?” The magician asked in a voice so low Wilson could barely hear. The way he said it was almost as though there was a risk of someone listening...

Wilson shivered again, but not because he was cold. “If you don’t mind, yes.” He whispered back. Now he was becoming slightly paranoid, the darkness not held off by the candles and the fireplace making him nervous. Maybe a trick or two of Maxwell’s would make him feel better.

Maxwell stood up, extinguishing his cigar in an ashtray on one of the bookshelves. He took the Codex and flipped it to a certain page, then paused for added suspense. “Wilson, do me a favor.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t scream.”

Before Wilson could reply, he felt a pair of cold, cold hands cover his mouth from behind. 

  
  


 


	12. Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi beloveds!!! c r i e s sorry for taking so long on this bit,,  
> my birthday was on april 4th ;v; im getting olddddd (to be fair i'm only 16 but sTILL)  
> >confetti emoji  
> I've been busy & gave myself some off time as a birthday present to myself, plus i'm working on another fic soooo that's why there was an absence. sorry! love you all, i'll try not to do it again!!
> 
> warnings fr this chapter are referenced child abuse aaaand that's it

    Maxwell was clearly holding back a laugh. “Knock it off already, you two! Do you _want_ to give the man a heart attack?”

    Wilson, who had felt every part of him go cold and stiff at the contact, whipped his head around to see a giggling Wendy and Abigail standing in the doorway. The spectre was ‘dressed’ if you will the same way she was last time Wilson had seen her, but Wendy was clad in a white nightgown. Her hair had been tied back in a simple low bun, a bit sloppily as though she’d done it herself.

    “Christ,” He wheezed, clutching his chest. “You girls scared the hell out of me.”

    Abigail mouthed something, the low alto-flute of her voice quiet and almost muted out by the sound of the room’s fireplace.

    “She’s chastising you for your language usage, Mr. Higgsbury!” Wendy translated enthusiastically, cheeks flushed pink from laughing.

    The detective sunk back in his chair, partially relieved it wasn’t something sinister behind him and partially embarrassed that he’d only been scared of a few children. “Ah, right. I suppose I deserve that, don’t I.” Said he with a nervous chuckle of his own.

    “You don’t. Anyway, I thought you girls were supposed to be in bed.” Maxwell remarked, pointedly eyeing the two children.

    Abigail murmured something again and tilted her head to the side, her pale eyes focused on her uncle curiously. Wilson wondered for a moment if she knew he couldn’t understand her speech.

“We were in the middle of a very important conversation,” Maxwell replied to her, impatiently crossing a leg over the other, “And it’s not something I think the two of you would want to--”

“Uncle, please. Do you take us for fools? This is about _her_ , isn’t it?” Wendy spoke again, her voice much more callous this time, and the swiftness with which she changed moods surprised Wilson greatly. Maxwell paused.

“It is, which is precisely why I want you to give the two of us some space.” He said. Wendy shook her head defiantly.

“Please. I want to stay for this, whatever it is. I’m mature enough to handle it, I promise.” She insisted, leaning against the side of Wilson’s armchair. The detective shifted uneasily; in their childhood, if he and Willow defied their parents so openly, the punishment would constitute a swift beating with a switch. Maxwell, however, was clearly not the type to strike his own children and instead responded with a “Fine, but no interrupting or you’ll go straight to bed again. Are we clear?”

“Of course.” Wendy obediently sat herself down next to the armchair, out of sight of the detective. Abigail remained in her place and said something to her uncle yet again. Maxwell looked apologetically at Wilson.

“Forgive me for the interruption.” He said, and the detective immediately waved him off.

“It’s no big deal, really.” The other man insisted dismissively.

Abigail hummed.

    “How are you able to understand her?” Wilson marvelled. Maxwell chuckled.

    “It’s a family thing, I think.” He said, “Anyway, Abigail, if you would..”

Her uncle motioned casually for her to come closer. To the shock of Wilson, she did exactly that, passing straight through both him and his chair in the process. He jumped the moment he felt her cold form pass through him and thought it was as though a winter breeze had quickly washed over his body before dissipating. Wendy broke out into giggles again.

    “You look shocked!” She remarked, looking over the man’s shoulder, and the detective realized he did in fact have quite a surprised expression on his face.

    “Ah, forgive me, kiddo,” He said sheepishly, “I’m not used to this sort of thing, you know?”

    “Of course. I forgot about that!” The little girl rested her arms on the side of the chair. “You were that detective guy who didn’t believe in magic, I remember you now. I think your disbelief is what makes you being here all the more fun, though!”

    “Sure it does, kid,” Wilson said a bit more dismissively than he’d intented. As much as he wasn’t going to admit it to anyone besides the group in this room, he’d actually begun to think a bit differently on his perception of paranormality now. He saw Abigail walk--float? It appeared as though she hovered a slight distance off the ground to move about--over to her uncle and lean closely into his ear, murmuring something once again. Maxwell sighed.

    “No, dear, not today. It isn’t _safe_ to do that, you know.” He whispered back rather tersely in such a way that Wilson thought he probably wasn’t supposed to have heard him.

    “You know, Mr. Higgsbury,” The living girl next to him remarked casually, “If Abby were to give you a scare that bad again, I suppose you’ll become a ghost just like her!” She paused. “And like Ms. Wickerbottom, too.”

    Abigail tensed and said something. Wilson remembered Maxwell saying that his niece was quite distraught by the old woman’s death, though he observed her as being oddly calm and put-together for someone supposedly in a state of mourning.

    “Ah, about that,” Wilson turned to face the child, the stopped short, unsure of just how much Wendy knew of the nature of Wickerbottom’s death. “I heard about how much you liked her. I’m really sorry, kiddo.”

    Wendy shrugged, but her eyes were troubled. “It could always be worse. I heard from Aunt Charlie that you’re the one investigating her death.” She seemed a lot more quiet and forlorn, less energetic than she was moments ago. Her pale blue eyes flickered upwards to meet the detective’s and she stared him down intently, waiting for him to speak on the subject. Wilson looked over to Maxwell, who was still conversing softly with Abigail, and he turned his attention back to the girl.

    “What do you know?” He asked. There were certain things about this matter that he wasn’t about to discuss with a child her age, though it wouldn’t matter either way if she somehow already knew them. Some case details would have been passed onto the family by now, and certainly that would mean the Carters would have heard about it as well.

    “I know it was a murder,” Wendy replied in a low voice, seating herself on one of the armrests casually. Her calm speaking sounded rather forced and if the detective didn’t know any better, he’d think she was willing herself not to cry. “It’s a frightening thought, really, that there’s a murderer walking about the streets of England right now. But otherwise, I’m not sure of any details.”

    “Ah.” So the child didn’t know, then, how badly mutilated a state her beloved librarian had been found in. All the better for her, really. Wilson crossed a leg over the other, trying to appear casual. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll give you and the rest of your family closure soon enough. My sister and I, we’ll catch that killer and throw them behind bars so they’ll never see the light of day again!”

    “Oh, you’ve got a sister!” Wendy appeared to lighten at the thought, a quick smile forming on her lips. “Was that the woman I saw talking to Aunt Charlie earlier? Goodness, that answers that question, then. You look like twins!”

    Wilson laughed. “We are twins!” He noticed Maxwell look him over for a moment, and there seemed in his expression to be something the detective perceived as being admiration.

    “Really!” Wendy chattered, “Just like Abigail and I! Oh! Mr. Higgsbury, please answer a question for me if you will.”

    “Of course,” The detective replied, “What is it?”

    The child fell silent for a moment, and the small smile that had been on her face disappeared once again. “I heard, though mind you heard very little of how she died.” She pointedly looked over at her uncle. “So, tell me, sir. Was she in pain while she lay dying?”

    Time stopped for a moment. Wilson reeled; that was the last thing he’d expected to hear from a nine-year-old child, and the casualness with which she posed the question did naught to calm the unease it sparked in him. Maxwell looked mortified.

    “Wendy _Elizabeth_ \--!”

    “No.” Wilson blurted out. Once again, everything slowed down as the detective processed the answer he’d just given. _No._ No, of course Wickerbottom wasn’t in pain--that was a reasonable conclusion to come to, right? The blood was very fresh when they found her, still seeping from the wound into her nice party dress, and her eyes were already glassed over like a dead man’s so no she didn’t feel any pain and if she _did_ it would have been rather minimal and she is resting well now and everything is fine and-- “Not at all. She died peacefully, kiddo. No suffering. I swear on my life.”

    The little girl let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you for that. I was worried for a moment she had.” She paused. “I apologize for interrupting.”

    “It’s fine, honey.” Maxwell dismissed it casually.

Wilson nodded, “Might as well have gotten that out of the way. To ease the mind, you know?”

Abigail perched herself on the end of the table next to Maxwell, and suddenly something occurred to Wilson that he scolded himself for not thinking of earlier. Abigail in and of herself was quite an interesting being, and she could interact with the living just fine. Perhaps, if she wasn’t the only being like that…

“Hey, Maxwell,” The detective asked, “I--forgive me if this is a bit of an odd question,” He flushed, realizing quickly how strange and stupid he felt for wanting to ask this. “Is Abigail the only supernatural entity that you know of, or are there more beings out there like her?”

    A troubled silence fell over the room. The Carter children and their uncle all exchanged uneasy glances, and Wilson got the impression that he’d asked a bit of a touchy question. Maxwell reached over to the table and took another cigar, and Abigail passed him the lighter; this meant she was capable of physically handling small objects, too, Wilson observed.

    “I would be careful with asking questions like that, Mr. Higgsbury.” He warned, raising the cigar to his lips and taking a drag. A sudden bout of unease washed over the detective, one not unlike the peculiar fear that had been instilled within him after his little ‘deal’ with the magician was settled.

    “Why’s that?” He asked. Wendy looked upset. Abigail refused to make eye contact. “You know it’s likely in your best interest to tell me, right?” It sounded absolutely batshit crazy even to himself, but Wilson thought he was beginning to get onto something. Maybe, just maybe, if Abigail wasn’t the only supernatural presence in the area, perhaps it would be able to explain a few of the peculiarities about Wickerbottom’s case.

    A sudden thunderclap sounded from above, and the walls of the room shook hard for a few moments. Wendy shrieked and clung to the side of the chair, and Abigail started so hard that she almost seemed to begin flickering in and out of reality, like a lightbulb ready to expire. Wilson, for once, paid her oddness no mind and instead bunched up on himself in fright. Even Maxwell looked rather startled by the event and held fast to his seat. Just as soon as it had begun, the shaking stopped, and everything returned to normal, though the unease in Wilson’s stomach ceased to dissipate.

    “Strange,” The detective mumbled, not daring to let himself relax, “It didn’t seem the right weather for a lightning storm tonight.”

    Maxwell drew in a shaky breath. “Mr. Higgsbury, I hate to cut this short, but I think you should leave. Now.”

 

═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══

 

    There wasn’t a cloud in the sky on the twins’ cab ride home.

    Granted, it was rather dark and the street lights made it hard to see properly, but Wilson could faintly make out stars all throughout the sky as they rode back to the edge of town where their home was.

    “Um, _hello_? Wilson? Are you listening to me?” Willow raised her voice, snapping her brother out of his train of thought.

    “Oh. Um, nope.” Wilson responded with a chuckle. “What were you saying?”

    His sister rolled her eyes. “I asked you how you always manage to meet such interesting people. Charlie is such a pleasant woman! She made me tea and we chatted about all sorts of things while you and Maxwell were busy. She has just the cutest niece, and now they’re taking care of another boy who’s like a nephew to them already! She even showed me a few pictures of them!” She laughed, clearly in very good spirits for the night.

    “Yes, yes. I know about Wendy, and Maxwell told me about the boy.” Wilson leaned back in the cab seat.

    “They’re just all-around such a nice family! I should visit with Charlie more, she’s quite a nice woman. Oh, and Wilson, guess what?” Willow grinned and her brother got the feeling this wasn’t going someplace good.

    “What…?” He asked cautiously.

    “She’s got a sister about our age, an older one. Her name’s Winona,” Wilson received a playful elbow to the rib, “And she’s single!”

    Wilson groaned. “You are _not_ about to try and matchmake me with another random woman, are you?”

    “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” Willow teased in a singsong tone of voice, “But seriously, I was shown a picture of her, too, and you seriously cannot pass this woman up! She works in a factory, so she’s busy a lot of the time, but next weekend she’ll be in town to visit and perhaps Charlie can set the two of you up then!”

    Her brother rolled his eyes. “Great. My answer is no already.”

    “What?! Why? She’s so _pretty_ ,” Willow began to ramble, “And so strong, too! Got quite the build if I do say so myself, I reckon she could lift at least one of us no problem! Charlie says she’s really loyal and great at her job and oh, I don’t doubt that for a second. Perhaps the reason you haven’t dated in the past is because tomboyish women are more your type?” She teased.

    ‘No, I haven’t dated in the past because _men_ are more my type, jackass,’ Is what Wilson would have said if he could, but instead, he simply kept his mouth shut and shook his head.

    “Oh. Well, whatever. Point is, you should do it. She’s really nice too from what I’m told, and she can put things together like no one’s ever seen!” Willow sighed. “She sounds so wonderful, you know. I think she’s at least worth a try on your part.”

    Begrudgingly, Wilson huffed. “I’ll consider it.” He said, knowing full well that he would _not_ be considering it and that Willow would just forget this whole thing by tomorrow anyway. His sister cheered.

    “Yess! About time you said yes to going out with someone!” She said and immediately dissolved into a fit of giggles. Wilson rolled his eyes again.

    “Oh, shut up, you. I find you’re quite enthusiastic about this whole dating thing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were more interested in getting with this Winona character than I am.” He remarked with a teasing smile.

    Willow’s laughter stopped. “What on earth...why would you think _that_ ?” She said, sounding repulsed by the idea. Wilson mentally punched himself; of _course_ she wasn’t going to take that joke well. Suddenly she sounded a lot more defensive, almost snappish than she was a moment ago.

    “What? It was a mere observation--”

    “Well, it was a faulty one.” Willow cut him off briskly. “So just shut up already.”

    “Jesus,” Her brother shifted uneasily in his seat, “Fine.”

The rest of the ride home was rather awkward, to say the least.

 

    “Hey, Willow?” Wilson called for his sister’s attention as the two split off to go separate ways to their bedrooms. They hadn’t spoken a word to one another since the incident in the car, and the air between them had hung thick with tension the entire walk from the streets to the staircase in their home.

    “What do you want?” The woman snapped, her hand on the knob of her bedroom door.

    “Did you happen to see lighting outside as you were in the sitting room with Charlie?” He asked.

    Willow stared at him, confused. “No. I did hear thunder, but I suppose it was just heat lightning.” She opened the door to her room. “It’s that time of year, you know. Get some sleep. You sound like you need it.”

    Wilson swallowed thickly. “Alright. Goodnight.”

    “Goodnight.”

    The door to his room shut and locked quickly behind Wilson and he slumped against the door. So Willow, and presumably Charlie, had heard the thunder too. What a strange thing the Carter household was, he thought, slipping off his outer coat and trousers for the night. Everything about that place reeked with mystery that he was just dying to learn more about, most of all the man of the household. The ease with which Maxwell discussed the supernatural, as though he’d been around it his whole life, impressed the detective greatly. Had they switched places, with Wilson being the one describing his own areas of expertise to him so on-the-spot like that, he knew he would be reduced to a rambling, incomprehensible mess in moments.

    He chuckled to himself and set his used clothing aside, stripping from his work shirt and putting that away as well. That man aroused so many curiosities within Wilson that he momentarily considered filing with the chief of police a separate case dedicated solely to solving the mysteries of all the questions he had about that family’s life with a spirit in its midst. Supernatural beings aside, though, he had to admit he admired the way Maxwell was with his children; he envied the gentleness with which he spoke to his nieces, even while they acted defiantly, and he couldn’t ignore the very obvious love he had for them. If only his own family had treated himself and Willow as such growing up.

    Wilson briefly exited the room to wash his face and looked over his reflection in the mirror. Truly, one could tell from the outside that he was under quite a bit of stress; the circles beneath his eyes had darkened considerably since the last time he’d checked them, and there was stubble on his jaw that he had neglected to get rid of sooner. Perhaps sleep would help clear the dark circles a bit if nothing else.

    After returning to his room, something dawned on him about the case that made his heart sink. Abigail’s existence had, in his mind, opened up a slew of possibilities regarding how Wickerbottom’s murder could have played out. It sounded ridiculous even to himself, but it also made perfect sense; why there was no physical trace of another person being in the room at the time of the crime, for example. So, if some paranormal thing _had_ taken hold in there--which Wilson still highly doubted, mind you--then that would explain that part of the mystery. It almost sounded too good to be true, in fact, and it was. The problems now were a) proving that supernatural forces _actually_ had a role in the killing, b) determining if there were any living people behind it, and if so who they were, and c) getting his colleagues to believe him before they had him institutionalized.

Wilson scoffed. ‘Good luck with that.’ He thought to himself. How complex a thing it would be to prove, and yet there didn’t seem to be many other solutions for the detective to resort to besides simply dropping the case.

    It bothered him greatly, the possibility of letting this case go cold, but the truth was Wilson had very little faith that he could scrounge up more convincing physical evidence pointing to who Wickerbottom’s killer could be. And though she never said so, he could tell Willow felt the same. The idea that such a sensational case would have to go unsolved both angered and terrified him. There was a very real fear he had now of failing to solve this and disappointing not only the press but the Carter family as well, and the detective flopped down on his bed to resign himself to its soft comfort. He supposed he would just burn the emotions off in his dreams. The prospect of putting down a case at a cost to his ego would be a problem for the Wilson of tomorrow.

Perhaps, while he was at it, he could put the whole ‘supernaturality’ thing aside. It would surely drive him mad if he let the topic plant any more seeds of curiosity inside his already-strained mind. Besides, how the _fuck_ would he convince his superiors to take some time out of the office to research that? Nope, nope, and more nope. That task was going to be more trouble than it was worth, Wilson thought.

That conversation between himself and the magician’s niece played over in Wilson’s head again.

    _‘Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll give you and the rest of your family closure soon enough.’_

    He sighed and recalled how relieved little Wendy upon hearing that, and the subtle look of pride that appeared in Maxwell’s eyes. Would he _really_ be able to follow through on that promise? There was no incriminating evidence to be seen among the hundreds of report papers and photographs gathered from the crime, leaving Wilson and Willow with nothing more than blood spatters and a badly mutilated corpse to go off of. Dead men tell no tales, as was common knowledge in the crime-solving world, so even if the body contained clues for what the murder weapon was, it wouldn’t give them the location or its wielder and therefore lead them to nothing more than a few dead ends. Wilson rolled over and shoved his face in his pillow, frustrated. Stupid murder. Stupid need to impress Maxwell and his kids. Stupid ego granting him the inability to back down from a case.

Moonlight painted the bedspread and the wall behind him. Across the hallway, he could hear his sister snore. With a chuckle, Wilson resolved to tease her about that in the morning. The feeling of impending sleep began to slowly spread throughout his body, and after a few moments, he gave himself up to sleep.

  



End file.
